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Balliol College, Oxford 



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THE French work entitled Le Palais de Justice de Paris was 
written in collaboration by certain members of the " Association 
de la Presse Judiciaire," or Association of Journalists attached to 
the Paris Law Courts. Their object was to describe, for the 
general as opposed to the purely legal inquirer, the organisation 
and procedure of the Paris Law Courts, the history and customs 
of the Paris Bar, and the psychological aspect of that varied 
world whom interest or necessity attracts, day by day, to the 
Parisian" Palace of Justice. 

The greater part of the work is here translated. In place of 
the detailed account of the old French legal system and the 
archaeology of the Palais de Justice with which the French work 
begins, I have given a short explanatory sketch of the whole 
French judicial system as it now is. 

The differences between French and English law are so 
numerous and fundamental that it has been difficult to adopt 
a uniform rule in the translation of French technical terms. 
Where a French institution occurs to which England contains no 
parallel, it has been thought best to retain the original term. 
Occasionally, e.g. in certain special cases of procedure, a paraphrase 
has been*given. Wherever possible, however, I have, at the risk of 
being styled a purist, rendered the French technical terms by 
English technical equivalents. My thanks are due to Mr. Joseph 
Turrell, M.A., B.C.L., Barrister-at-law, of the Inner Temple, and to 
Mr. Arthur Abrahams, Solicitor, of 8 Old Jewry, London, and 
23 Rue Taitbout, Paris, for much valuable assistance in this, the 
hardest part of my task. 


October, 1893. 



I. THE FRENCH JUDICIAL SYSTEM. By the Translator . 19 

II. A MODERN LAW-SUIT. By F. Ducuing 10 19 

III. LIFE AT THE COURTS. By H. Vonoven 20 36 

IV. BEFORE COURT OPENS. By Maxima Halbrand and 

Ed. Benoit-Ldvy 37 65 

V. IN COURT. By Maxime Halbrand 66 89 


and Maxime Halbrand 90 99 

VII. THE AUCTION ROOM. By Ch. Fourcaulx 100 104, 


Maxime Halbrand 105 in 


Fourcaulx 112 115 

X. THE COURT OF APPEAL. By F. Obermayer and 

Maxime Halbrand 116 127 


XII. THE COURT OF CASSATION. By Max Vincent .... 133135 

XIII. THE COURTS AT NIGHT. By Alfred Husson 136 137 

XV. THE COURT OF SIMPLE POLICE. By A. Pujo .... 140143 


Clemenceau, J. Moinaux, Ch. d'Arcis, and H. Vonoven 144 164 



Desgaultieres 170172- 


viii CONTENTS , 


CHAP. 'j 

XIX. THE COURT OF ASSIZE. By Albert Bataille . . . ^ . 173206 
XX. THE CONCIERGERIE. By Ame'de'e Blondeau and H. 

Vonoven .................... 207 216 

XXI. THE DEPOT. By Amedde Blondeau and Maxima 

Halbrand .................... 217 229 


Bonhomme ................... 230 239 

XXIII. THE DETECTIVE POLICE. By V. Beau ........ 240243 


Bataille ..................... 244 252 


Clemenceau, E. Ratoin, Ch. Fourcaulx, and H. Vonoven 254 266 
By Godefroy, A. Bataille, Ebrard-Gervasy, and 
H. Vonoven ................... 267 283 


Vonoven and A. Bergougnan ... ........ 284 293 




THE French judicial system is in many respects entirely 
different from the English. 

The English law courts can trace their descent, without a break 
from the Curia Regis of Henry the Second ; those of France date 
only from the legislation of the Constituent Assembly in 1791. 
English judicial reformers have never done more than occasionally 
modify existing institutions to meet the needs of a growing com- 
munity ; the French revolutionary reformers completely swept away 
a system built up by centuries of custom and tradition, in favour 
of one based solely on reason and convenience. The English 
judicial system exhibits an agglomeration of antiquity and newness 
in the development of which legal fiction, equity, and legislation 
have all played their part; the French system, springing as a whole 
from one single enactment, is uniform, harmonious, and exact. 
One of the marked features of English polity is the separation be- 
tween the law courts and the executive government ; in France, no 
civil or criminal action can take place save under the direct super- 
vision of a state official. In England, high judicial office is only 
given to barristers of long standing and approved success ; and re- 
moval from an inferior to a higher grade is infrequent. In France, 
an advocate while merely a probationer is appointed to an inferior 
judicial office, and gradually rises to the higher courts by successive 
promotions. In England, cases to which a government official is a 



party are tried in the ordinary courts and by the ordinary rules ; 
in France, these actions are tried in special administrative courts 
and by special administrative rules. 

The French Government maintains a constant and regular 
supervision over the administration of justice by means of the 
ministere public. This is a state department, members of which sit 
in every court throughout France " to represent there the cause of 
public order and the interests of society in general." x Members 
of the ministere public who sit in the courts of first instance are 
known as procureurs. In the courts of appeal they are styled 
procureurs-gencraiix. They have deputies (substituts] ; certain 
agents of the procureurs-generaux being, however, styled avocats- 
gcneraux. Collectively, the members of the ministere public are 
also known as the magistrature debout in distinction to the ordinary 
judges, or magistrature assise. In criminal actions the members 
of the ministere public act as public prosecutors. In civil cases 
they either side with the plaintiff or defendant, as they think fit, 
being then known as partie principale ; or they merely make a 
general comment on the matters before the court, in which case 
they appear as partie jointe. The body of public advocates at- 
tached to any one court is known as the parquet. The procureurs- 
generaux, of whom there is one attached to every high court in 
France, have a right of supervision over their several parquets ; but 
the whole ministere public is strictly subordinate to the minister of 
justice. He is entitled to give its members instructions on every 
point connected with their duties. They are appointed and can 
be dismissed at will by the chief of the State, who, however, always 
acts on the advice of the minister of justice in this particular. 2 

1 See Dictionnaire cf Administration ; article " Mini stcre public. " 
- It is impossible to find good English equivalents for the French terms procureur- 
general and proem eur. "Public advocate" expresses their duties generally; 
" public prosecutor" their duty on the criminal side. Both these terms have accordingly 
been used in the ensuing translation. Occasionally, however, as, for instance, when the 
procureur-general appears in a ceremonial character, I have thought it best to use the 
French word. Procureur-general cannot be translated " attorney-general," owing to 
the difference in the special meaning attached to each word in France and England. 
The procuretir-geni'ralis a permanent official ; he is only one of a group of equals ; he 
acts at the suggestion of the Government, which when it needs legal advice applies to the 
Council of State. The "attorney-general" in England changes with the Ministry; 
stands alone ; and is the chief legal adviser of the Crown. There is, however, a faint 
resemblance between the ministere public and the department presided over by the 
solicitor to the Treasury. 


The ordinary judicial system of France may be summarised as 
follows : 

I. Tribunaux de paix. In each canton 1 is a tribunal de paix 
(magistrate's court), presided over by a juge de paix (justice of the 
peace, or, more properly, stipendiary magistrate). He is assisted 
by a greffier (registrar or magistrate's clerk) ; and he has two 
Supplcants (deputies) to take his place in case of absence or indis- 
position. His jurisdiction extends to all cases of contravention 
(petty offences) specified by the penal code. He can impose, 
without appeal, a. fine of fifteen francs or a sentence of imprison- 
ment for five days. Fine or imprisonment beyond these amounts 
can be appealed against to the tribunal correctionnel (criminal court 
of first instance) of the arrondissement. In criminal cases the 
State is represented in the magistrate's court by a commissary of 
police, by the mayor of the commune in which the court is located, 
or by a supplcant of the magistrate himself. 

In civil matters \.\\e juge de paix has summary jurisdiction in all 
actions in which the property in dispute, or sum claimed, does not 
exceed 100 francs in value. He can also judge actions up to 200 
francs, but an appeal here lies to the tribunal civil (civil court of 
first instance) of the arrondissement. He is also entitled to try 
certain special actions up to 1500 francs value, as, e.g. disputes be- 
tween hotel -keepers and their guests ; and certain special actions 
for indefinite amounts, as, e.g. claims for damage to standing crops 
or underwood laid by farmers resident in his locality. In both of 
these cases appeal lies to the tribunal civil. His chief civil duty 
however, is that of an arbitrator. He is bound, by law, to try and 
effect, in a friendly way and without charging any fee, a reconciliation 
between all persons wishing to go to law. In theory, no plaintiff 
in a civil suit can issue a writ till he puts in a statement to the effect 
that the juge de paix has failed to reconcile him to the defendant. 
In practice, however, exemption from this attempt at conciliation 
(prclijiiinaire de conciliation) can invariably be obtained by appli- 
cation to the president of the tribunal civil. There are also certain 
special cases in which the preliminaire de conciliation may be dis- 
pensed with of right, e.g. cases to which the State or a municipality- 
is a party ; cases in which the rights of infants are concerned ; 
and cases in which there is more than one defendant. 2 

1 France is divided into eighty-seven departments, 362 arrondissements, and about 
36,000 communes. The latter correspond to the English township. 

de paix are called on to arbitrate in about two and a quarter million 

B 2 


The ministere public is not represented in the magistrate's court 
in civil cases. 

II. Tribunaux de premiere instance. In every arrondissement 
sits a court of first instance. 1 It is usually known simply as le 
tribunal ; it takes both criminal actions, when it is called tribunal 
correctionnel (translated in the text " correctional court "), and civil 
actions, under the name of tribunal civil (civil court of first in- 
stance.) The tribmiaux vary in size. That of Paris contains no less 
than seventy-four judges and fifteen suppleants. Every tribunal 
is divided into different chambers, among which the work is dis- 
tributed, the Paris tribunal, for instance, comprising eleven 
chambers. The ministere public is represented in all the courts of 
first instance, both civil and criminal, by a procureur and his 

The correctional court hears appeals from the magistrates' 
courts, its judgment in these cases being final. It also tries, but in 
first instance only, all offences specified as delits (misdemeanours) 
by the penal code. Appeal in these cases lies to the Court of 

Certain members of the correctional court are deputed to act 
asjuges a" instruction (examining magistrates). The latter are em- 
powered to examine all accused persons. If they think there 
is no ground for the charge they issue an ordonnance de non lieu, 
and the accused is set at liberty. If they consider it their 
duty to commit the accused, they give directions for his trial 
before a magistrate if the offence amount only to a contravention, 
and before a correctional court if the offence amount to a delit. If 
the accused is charged on good grounds with crime (felony) the 
examining magistrate passes him on to a cJiambre des mises en 
accusations (chamber of indictments), which formally draws up the 
charge and sends the accused before the court of assize. It should 
be noted that an examining magistrate questions the accused per- 
sonally and in private. He can remand him into solitary confine- 
ment for an indefinite number of times, no limit being placed on 
the time allotted to examination. The system thus readily lends 
itself to abuse ; and there are said to be cases of prisoners wrong- 
civil cases every year. On an average, one case out of every three is satisfactorily 
settled in this way. 

1 But there is only one court of first instance for the department of the Seine. It 
sits at Paris. The arrondissement of Puget-Theniers (Alpes-Maritimes) is grouped with 
that of Nice for judicial purposes. 


fully confessing to a charge in order to put an end to the worrying 
torture of private examination. 

The civil court of first instance hears appeals from the magis- 
trate's court. It has a summary jurisdiction in all claims up to 
1500 francs value. It can also try any actions beyond this 
amount ; but, in the latter case, an appeal lies to the court of 

///. Cours d'appel. For purposes of appeal jurisdiction, 
France is divided into twenty-six districts, in each of which sits 
a cour d'appel (court of appeal) with authority over several 
departments. x 

The courts of appeal, like the courts of first instance, vary in 
size ; that of Paris contains seventy-two judges. In the provinces 
the number of judges varies from twenty to thirty-one. Every court 
of appeal is divided into three chambers. Its judges are divided 
into a first president of the whole court, a president for each 
chamber, and a number of puisne judges, known as " counsellors of 
appeal." The three chambers are : 

1. La chambre civile (the civil chamber), which hears appeals 
from the civil courts of first instance on questions of fact ; and, 
rather singularly, acts as a criminal court in case of misdemeanours 
committed by great officials, judges and knight commanders of 
the Legion of Honour. Seven judges form a quorum. 

2. La clunnbre dcS appels correct ionnels (chamber of criminal 
appeals), which hears appeals from the correctional courts. The 
appeal can be made cither by a convicted prisoner, or by the 
public prosecutor on the ground that the defendant was wrongfully 
acquitted or received too slight a sentence. The latter is called an 
appeal a minima. The court of appeal has power to increase sen- 
tences of the correctional court. Five judges form a quorum. 

3. La clunnbre des wises en accusations (chamber of indict- 
ments), entrusted with the duty of examining into charges of 
felony and with power to order commitment or discharge. 

A judge of the court of appeal also presides over the jures 
cC expropriation (juries of ten appointed to assess compensation 
in case where property is taken for public purposes). This is the 
only instance of a jury in civil cases. 

1 Except the court of appeal at Dastia, whose authority is confined to the department 
of Corsica. 


The ministere public is represented in the appeal courts by a 
procureur-ff/n4ral, avocats-generaux, and the usual substituts. 

IV. Cours a'assises. The French assize courts resemble the 
English in the fact that their members go on circuit They are 
held in the chief town of each department every three months, 
and have cognizance of offences specified as crimes by the penal 

An assize court consists of three judges taken either from the 
court of appeal in whose district the department lies ; or, in some 
cases, of one member of the court of appeal and two members of 
the neighbouring correctional court. The charge is laid by the 
chamber of indictments and the prosecution conducted by a 
prociireur-general or one of his substituts. The question of guilt or 
innocence is left to the decision of a jury of twelve. The verdict 
of the majority is always taken. Equal division is regarded as 
tantamount to an acquittal. 

V. La cour de cassation. The court of cassation, which sits at 
Paris, is the supreme court of appeal for all France. Application 
may be made to it from any decision of any court. An appeal to 
the court of cassation, which is specially called, not appel, but 
ponrvoi en cassation, can only be made on a point of law, e.g. an 
error in an indictment, or a misinterpretation of an article of the 
code, or an excess of powers committed by a court. The court of 
cassation is thus a school of jurisprudence. Arguments brought 
before it must show a minute knowledge of the letter of the law ; 
and it has a special bar, the members of which do not plead in the 
other courts. The court of cassation also exercises a disciplinary 
power over the whole French judiciary. Thus it is always open to 
receive complaints of corruption or denial of justice against any 
judge or magistrate. In these cases the whole court of cassation sits 
en audience solennelle,\he. minister of justice acting as its president. 
The delinquent judge is allowed counsel. The court of cassation 
consists of a first president, three presidents of chambers, and 
forty-five puisne judges, styled counsellors. It is divided into three 
chambers : 

1. La chambre des requetes (chamber of requests), which 
merely examines civil appeals to see if they are justifiable. 

2. La chambre civile (the civil chamber), which finally hears 
the civil appeals remitted to it by the above. 


3. La cJiambre correct ionnelle (the criminal chamber), which 
hears criminal appeals direct. 

After careful examination of the pleas put forward by the 
appellant, the court of cassation either declares that no error of 
law having been committed the judgment must be upheld, or, in 
the opposite case, quashes the judgment, and orders a new trial. 

The above courts comprise the ordinary jurisdiction, with which 
the ensuing work is mainly concerned. There are, however, two 
other systems of jurisdiction which, as they are also referred to 
later on, may be described very briefly. They are : 

VI. La juridiction commerciale, consisting of (a) the conseils de 
prudhommes (arbitration boards) established in the chief industrial 
centres, to decide disputes between workmen and employers ; and 
(fr) the tribitnaux de commerce (commercial courts), established in 
the chief commercial centres for the settlement of commercial 
disagreements. Where no arbitration boards or commercial courts 
exist, industrial and commercial disputes come before the ordinary 
civil courts. And, 

VII. La juridiction administrative, to judge all charges brought 
against servants of the State in their official capacity. It comprises 
(a) the conseil de prefecture, which sits in every department as an 
administrative court of first instance ; (&} the cour des comptes, 
established to check the management and disbursalof the revenue ; 
and (c) the conseil detat (council of state), which hears appeals 
from both these courts, but is chiefly occupied in giving legal 
assistance to the executive government. The tw r o latter courts sit 
at Paris. The administrative courts act under a special procedure, 
they have a strong official bias, and actions laid by private 
individuals against State officials rarely succeed. Questions oc- 
casionally arising as to whether a case comes under the ordinary 
or administrative jurisdiction are decided by a special court 
known as the tribunal des conflits (court for questions of conflict- 
ing jurisdiction). 

All the French judges are appointed by the chief of the State. 
They are all irremovable except for misconduct, saving the juges 
de paix, who are dismissable at will. 

French judicial salaries are very low when judged by the English 
standard. The president of the court of cassation, the head of the 
French judiciary, receives 30,000 francs (1200 a year), the re- 
muneration of other members of the court varying according to 


their rank from 25,000 francs (1000) to 18,000 francs (720). 
The first president of the court of appeal at Paris receives 25,000 
francs a year. The salaries of other members of that court range 
from 13,750 francs ("550) to 11,000 francs (440). The salaries of 
appeal judges in the provinces range from 20,000 francs (,800) to 
5000 francs (200). The president of the Paris court of first 
instance receives 20,000 francs (800) a year. The vice-presidents 
of the eleven chambers 10,000 francs (400) a year each. In the 
provinces, judges of first instance receive from 10,000 francs 
(400) to 2,400 francs (96} a year. Juges de paix in Paris receive 
8000 francs (320). In the provinces their maximum salary is 
5000 francs (200), and the minimum 1800 francs (72) a year. 
Members of the ministere public are paid salaries proportioned to 
those received by the judges in whose courts they appear. 

The following work deals with the law courts which have their 
home in the Palace of Justice in Paris. Of these, the court of 
cassation alone has a sovereign authority Over the whole of 
France. 1 The others have a purely local jurisdiction, and in 
organisation and procedure are identical with any of the other 
corresponding local courts. The Palace of Justice, if we count 
with it the Prefecture of Police and the Tribunal of Commerce, 
occupies about half of the islet in the river Seine known as the 
cite. The cite is the most ancient part of Paris. The Palais de 
Justice itself was originally a residence of the kings of France. 
It so remained till 1431, when it was made over to the chief 
French law court, then known as the " Parliament of Paris," by 
Charles VI. Like most public buildings in Paris, the Palace of 
Justice has suffered greatly from the effects of political revolution ; 
especially during the Communist movement of 1871, when a great 
portion of it was burnt down. Little of the ancient palace thus 
remains, except the incomparable Sainte-Chapelle, which has stood 
through the vicissitudes of six centuries of political turmoil, as a 
monument to the saintly genius of Louis IX. But owing to the 
care and liberality of the French government, the modern Palace 
of Justice, an irregular but stately pile of buildings, bounded on 
two of its sides by the Seine, and on the other two by the Place 
Dauphine and the Boulevard du Palais, is well worthy of its duties. 

1 The three other sovereign courts, the conseil d'etat, the cour des comj>tes, and the 
tribunal des conflits sit in the Palais Royal. 


The principal entrance is from the Boulevard du Palais, by the 
Cour de Mai. A grand flight of steps leads to the Galerie 
Marchande; on the right of which is the celebrated Salle des 
Pas-Perdus, the great meeting place for all whose business brings 
them to the Paris law courts. From here the way to the different 
courts lies open ; the reader will find their appearance, their 
inhabitants, and their every-day life fully described to him in 
the ensuing pages. 1 

1 Since the above was written, certain laws have been in process of enactment with 
the object of effecting a reduction in the number both of the courts and the staff of judges. 



" Justice is merely the observance of forms." 

A LEARNED judge placed this aphorism at the head of one 
of his works. Did he intend to pass a criticism on justice, or a 
panegyric on procedure ? Those who knew him will incline to the 
latter hypothesis. In either case what this author said was true. 
It is not enough for a man to know his rights ; he must know 
the way to assert them. This the code of procedure teaches, but 
in a manner so subtle that only officers of the revenue and men of 
law can thread the maze. Far be it from us, therefore, to attempt 
here a detailed explanation of the mystery. Space would fail us, 
even if the reader's patience did not. A modern brief still bears 
too close a resemblance to the lawyer's bag spoken of by Rabelais, 
which was swelled every day by a new document, and took to 
itself beak, paunch, legs, arms, and talons, while, in the meantime, 
the poor suitor's purse grew gradually leaner. 1 

1 See Rabelais : Panlagritel, Book iii., c. 42. Judge Bridlegoose speaks as follows : 
" A suit in law at its first birth seemeth to me shapeless and imperfect. As a bear, at 
its birth, hath neither feet nor hands, skin, hair nor head ; it is merely a rude and 
shapeless lump of flesh. The dam, by much licking, puts its limbs into proper shape ; 
tit not. Doct. ad 1. Aquil, I. 2, in fin. Just so do I see suits of law at their first bringing 
forth, to be without shape and without limbs. They have nothing but a piece or two ; 
they are ugly creatures. -But when they are piled up, packed, and put in bags, \ve may 
term them duly provided with limbs and shape. In such way lawyers. . . . by sucking 
very much, and continually, the purses of the pleading parties, engender to their law- 
suits head, feet, claws beak, teeth, hands, veins, arteries, nerves, muscles, humours." 


But let us take an example of an actual law-suit, which will 
give the reader some idea of the thing known as procedure. 

Pierre, at the first breath of spring, had rented a country house 
not far from the banks of the Seine. He takes possession ; and 
lo and behold, the summer heat makes the building uninhabitable, 
It had been flooded during the winter, and dried and repaired in 
haste. The walls had been soaked with water, which now began 
to ooze through all the joints ; spoiling the curtains, covering 
the wood-work with mould, and filtering through the ceilings. 

Our friend's one idea was to be quit of his bargain. The 
landlord, having got a substantial tenant for three years, swore at 
floods, architects, and mankind in general ; and would not hear a 
word. There was nothing for it but to go to law. 

Pierre put the matter into the hands of his friend, Maitrc 
Renard. " We shall put the facts in evidence," said the solicitor, 
" and you must tell your architect to assist the officer of the court 
in framing his summons. Then we will make application to the 
judge in chambers." This application in chambers is a summary 
process, which consists in asking the president of the court to 
direct urgent measures to be taken without prejudice to any rights 
or proceedings. 

A summons then is issued against the landlord. The latter, in 
his turn, hurries to his solicitor, Maitre Leveau. Both parties 
attend in the judge's chambers. Maitre Renard puts in his 
evidence. Maitre Leveau maintains that if the house is damp, 
it is because the tenant has a horror of sunlight, and keeps the 
shutters closed. To settle this dispute, the judge makes an order 
appointing x a competent surveyor to inspect the premises. 

Up to now things have gone on swimmingly. But the surveyor 
is an important person, with heaps of clients and heaps of com- 
missions from the courts, and he takes everything in its regular 
turn. Autumn comes, and matters have not moved an inch. 
Pierre has had to leave the house, which was melting away ; 
but he has duly to pay his landlord's rent, his solicitor's charges, 
and the surveyor's fees. At last the surveyor finds his way 
to the place and prescribes extensive repairs, which cannot 
be executed till the spring. The landlord sees himself ruined 
already, and yet is only half in the wrong. 

Already the expenses incurred on one side and the other are 

1 Nomine far ordonnancc un expert. 



so heavy that an amicable settlement has become impossible. The 
surveyor sends in his report, bears testimony to the landlord's good 
faith, and allows that the Seine made too long a stay in his house. 
The law-suit proper is only just going to begin. 

The code of procedure prescribes an attempt at reconciliation * 
before a justice of the peace. But at Paris a petition is presented 
to the president praying that a writ be issued at once, on the 


ground of urgency ; the petition is always allowed, or, it would be 
better to say, granted as a matter of course. This practice is 
peculiar to Paris, and does not work badly. 

The landlord then is served with a writ claiming the annulment 
of the lease and damages. He must, in accordance with the writ, 
appear within three clear days. But his lawyer tells him what 

1 Preiiminaire de conciliation. 


this means. He must be represented by a solicitor, whose services 
cannot be dispensed with. Maitre Leveau notifies his friend that 
he is retained for the defence. 

From this day to the service of the judgment J all papers in the 
action will be exchanged between the two solicitors ; in the shape, 
be it understood, of documents stamped and registered, and 
through the agency of an officer of the court. Maitre Renard, 
solicitor of our friend Pierre, then deposits at the office of the 
court a sheet of paper on which the claims mentioned in the writ 
are word for word repeated. This document is called the placet ; 
it will be taken some day from the pigeon-holes of the office to lie 
for a while on the bar of the court ; it will come under the judge's 
eye when the case is argued, and will finally end its days- amidst 
the dust of the archives. But it has not reached this stage vet. 

O * 

Mark what follows. The registrar has entered the case on 
the general cause list of the tribunal. The landlord's solicitor 
Leveau, now puts in a special plea requiring discovery of docu- 
ments. 2 No answer is given ; the solicitor does not press the 
point, and, at the end of three or four weeks, he pleads to the 
merits of the case 3 denying liability. 

These pleadings could be comprised in two lines, but they will 
have to be engrossed on a number of folios (sheets of paper written 
on both sides) proportional to the importance of the suit. A law 
book will furnish the subject-matter ; but the clerk might quite 
safely introduce newspaper articles or comic literature. Nobody 
reads this trash, the sole purpose of which is to increase the 
income of the court officials. The abuse is provided for and 
legalised in the authorised scale of charges. In summary affairs, 
that is those in which no appeal is allowed, there are no engrossed 

The landlord's statement of defence has now been delivered. 
His solicitor has explained to him that it is purposely meaningless. 
Later on, when the counsel have shown their briefs to each other, 
both parties will proceed with a thorough knowledge of the matter, 

From this time forward issue is joined. If the defendant had 
not instructed a solicitor to appear for him after receiving the 
writ of summons, there would have been judgment for default (of 

1 Signification du jiigement. 

2 Prend des conclusions exceplionnelles, tendant a la communication des pieces. 

3 Prend des conclusions an fond. 


appearance) against the party. 1 The court would have given the 
case in Pierre's favour, reserving, however, to the landlord the 
right of being heard after service of the judgment, even after 
execution. If the defendant had instructed a solicitor to appear 
for him, but had not formally pleaded to the merits of the case, 
there would have been judgment for default (of pleading) against 
the solicitor; 2 and the claim to be heard after service of the 
judgment would have had to be made within eight days' time. 

The cause has been assigned to the sixth chamber of the civil 
tribunal, and entered in the particular list of that chamber. It is 
an urgent affair : for Pierre, who goes on paying his rent ; for the 
landlord, whose house, repaired under the direction of the official 
surveyor, remains shut up. But this is not the only urgent cause 
on the list ; the sixth chamber has heavy arrears ; and the 
president, beset by applications from solicitors, counsel, suitors, 
and the friends of suitors, entrenches himself behind the strictest 
rules of order. Thanks to the united efforts of the opposing parties, 
the suit at last comes up for trial at the end of thirteen months. 

"At last," says Pierre, "I am going to have my case tried." 
On which his solicitor, Maitre Renard, remarks : " I take the 
needful steps ; some one else argues the case. I have sent your 
brief to counsel." Pierre begins to have doubts about the famous 
principle of the division of labour : the officer of the court, the 
architect, the solicitor, the advocate. What a number of wheels ! 
and all have to be greased ! 

Our suitor makes a virtue of resignation. He sees his counsel, 
explains the matter, pays with the best grace he can command the 
customary fee, and keeps up his spirits. For the case will be 
taken on an appointed day of the week, though sixty others which 
were ripe for hearing before it have to be tried first. Happily the 
two parties are equally anxious to get it over, and their counsel 
are eager for the fray. 

They communicate their documents to each other. This is a 
practice little known and still less appreciated by the world at 
large. Even upright men would rather like to confound their 
opponents by not unmasking their batteries till the hearing. The 
less scrupulous would be glad to profit by the uncertainty which 
the previous examination of documents renders impossible. The 
bar is very punctilious on this point ; and thus it comes about 

1 Defaut contrepartie " Defant contre avoue. 


that there is light and comparative security in law-suits. After 
exchange of documents and the final close of the pleadings, 
the proceedings are completed, and leave is obtained from the 
president to have the case marked ready for trial. During the 
last three months, ever)* time the list of cases was called on 
Thursday this case has been called from week to week. It will 
continue to be called, but henceforth as one of a privileged 
class. At last the counsel get their chance. The court <jives 


judgment ; and Pierre wins his case. 

It is true that the lease has nearly expired, and Pierre has 
reckoned without his host. The landlord, who has already been 
compelled to repair his house under the most onerous condi- 
tions, is horror-struck at the united cost of the proceeding in 
chambers, the survey, and the action, which last also includes sur- 
veyor's fees. Every judgment in an action for unliquidated damages 
or for an amount exceeding 1500 francs, is subject to appeal. 
Pierre's rent was 1800 francs a year, and the term of the lease 
which he claimed to have cancelled was three years. The landlord 
therefore determines to appeal. 

Pierre then has to pay the full three years' rent of a house in 
which he has lived for two months ; for the appeal suspends the 
operation of the judgment. He believes, however, that he will not 
have to employ fresh persons to represent him. Mai t re Renard 
undeceives him : " I only practise in the Court of First Instance, so 
I will pass you on to my friend, Maitre Prudent, who is a solicitor 
of the Court of Appeal." Needless to say that Maitre Prudent's 
services, like those of Maitre Renard, cannot be dispensed with, 
and are not more gratuitous. Pierre is something of a logician, 
and wonders why his solicitor, like his advocate, should not be 
able to follow him through all the stages of jurisdiction. He has 
to buy a new experience. 

His visit to Maitre Prudent cheers him up. He thought that 
the case would last another two years and a half, as it had done 
before the lower court. " Set your mind at rest," answers Maitre 
Prudent, " you will get judgment in nine months." Maitre Prudent 
spoke the truth. Suits take so long in the courts of first instance 
that the suitor's courage and purse are often exhausted in the 
earliest stage of jurisdiction. Pierre, moreover, is charmed with 
the simplicity of the procedure. The appellant sets forth the 
grounds of his appeal in a formal statement. The respondent, 


relying on the reasons given by the first judges, contents himself 
with asking that the decree of the court below may be affirmed. 

After nine months' waiting, the appeal comes up for hearing. 
A month later it was decided, and this time Pierre has lost his 
cause ! The court held that when he took the house in question 
he knew that the Seine had inundated it. The injury caused by 
damp was not serious enough to render the house uninhabitable ; 
and, besides, the landlord has executed all the repairs ordered by 
the official surveyor. 

" I shall go to the Court of Cassation ! " cries Pierre. 

" Don't think of such a thing," remonstrates his advocate. " You 
may know all about the condition of the place, and the seriousness 
of the damage caused by damp ; but these are questions of fact which 
the Court of Cassation does not decide." " What does it do, then ? " 
" It begins by ascertaining the facts recognised as authentic in the 
judgment appealed from. Then it inquires if the laiv has been pro- 
perly applied. Now, it is the correctness of the facts that you dispute, 
not the legal deductions drawn from them by the Court of Appeal." 

Pierre would not give in, and he asked his advocate if he would 
appear for him in the Court of Cassation. " Nay, I cannot," 
answered the latter. " At the Court of Cassation there are special 
functionaries whom you must retain. They are called advocates 
like ourselves, but they perform the duties of solicitors as well." 

Pierre was once more filled with admiration for the principle 
of the division of labour. He again explained his case, and he 
again paid a fee. The advocate at the Court of Cassation was of 
opinion that there was nothing in the case. But Pierre persisted ; 
and, eventually, it was discovered that there had been a failure to 
decide on a minor point of the claim. The advocate drew up first 
an application to this Supreme Court, and then a long statement of 
the grounds on which it was based. The whole was deposited at 
the office of the Chamber of Requests. This is an examining 
board by which an appeal must be sanctioned before it can be 
submitted to the Civil Chamber the real Court of Cassation, 
properly speaking. Thus the opposite party is not represented in 
this first stage of the proceedings. But it would be absurd for 
fifteen counsellors to meet together simply to see whether a notice 
of appeal is serious ; and the Chamber of Requests really looks 
into the grounds of the petition so thoroughly that the unhappy 
appellant has to pass two courts, and to bear the cost of two trials. 


Pierre did not enjoy this pleasure. Both, the counsellor ap- 
pointed to examine and report on his application and the advocate- 
general were of opinion that the court below had, by implication, 
decided the point which the appellant alleged had been passed over ; 
and leave to appeal was refused in spite of the advocate's rhetoric. 

The proceedings before the Chamber of Requests had lasted a 
year. They would have lasted eighteen months more before the 
Civil Chamber. And, if the judgment of the Paris Court of Ap- 
peal had been quashed, it would have been necessary to begin over 
again before that court, as the Court of Cassation restores every- 
thing to the state it was in before the irregular judgment was given. 

When Pierre, who had some philosophy as well as something 
to lose, thought of this, he felt consoled. The case had lasted five 
years. It had cost about 2000 francs in the first instance (in- 
cluding 700 francs paid as fees to the surveyor), 1000 francs in the 
Court of Appeal, and the same amount before the Chamber of 
Requests. Yet we are only speaking of the taxed costs ; counsel's 
fees, be it understood, do not come under this heading. All this 
has not gone to the lawyers. The public treasury has had the 
lion's share, more than half in fact, in the shape of fees for regis- 
tration and stamps. The landlord has been not less thoroughly 
fleeced, for the surveyor had directed the repairs to be carried out 
with due respect to the rules of art. 

Good people ! if you will go to law, see that you have time,, 
money, and resignation. 

Time ! 

There is hardly a law-suit at Paris, even among those classed as 
summary proceedings, which does not last a year. For ordinary 
cases a much longer space of time must be allowed. To fix pre- 
cisely the interval which separates the issue of the writ from the 
judgment, it would be necessary to take into account many factors;, 
the nature of the suit, the court to which it is assigned (for justice 
is not equally halting in all), the diligence of the solicitors in bring- 
ing the case on for trial, the readiness of the counsel to argue it. 
. . . But I know of few which have not lasted for two or three 
years. In the first chamber of the tribunal, one must no longer 
count by years but by lustres. 
Money ! 

Here again any exact calculation is out of the question 
Everything depends upon the nature of the suit and on the side 
issues which may arise out of the original claim. Generally 

f c 


speaking, we may say that the costs bear no relation to the 
importance of the matters in dispute, and that they are thus 
disproportionately heavy in actions of lesser importance. The 
registration fees payable on all documents of procedure are 
uniform. There is, however, an ad valorem duty on the amount 
recovered, the rate of which varies, according as the action is one 
for debt or damages. Of course, if the judgment is reversed on 
appeal, the registration office pays back nothing. This is a 
fundamental maxim of our fiscal legislation. Shall we give a few 
examples ? It is reckoned that a summary proceeding costs from 
100 to 200 francs. A divorce with judgment by default rarely 
runs to less than 500 francs. If the action is defended, the costs 
may be reckoned at 1000 or 1500 francs. If there are collateral 
questions as to alimony and custody of children, if commissions 
have to be sent to other tribunals to examine witnesses who live 
far from Paris, the figures may be easily doubled. 

A suit for judicial separation, going by default (to take the 
most ordinary case), costs more than 500 francs, from the expense 
of having to advertise the judgment in different newspapers. 

It is impossible to escape from an ordinary civil action for less 
than 300 francs, exclusive of the dues payable on the amount for 
which judgment is given. These dues are at the rate of -J- per 
cent, in case of debts, and 2 per cent, in case of damages. 

All this is neither moderate nor just. But the abuse becomes 
flagrant when the suitor is in poor circumstances. It is true that 
judicial assistance is liberally afforded to persons suing in forma 
pauperis. This makes it possible for any man to go to law ; but 
it does not help him to bear the law's delay. Take the case of a 
workman who has been run over at a crossing by a clumsy driver. 
The wheels of the vehicle have passed over his body. He leaves 
the hospital a cripple. He obtains judicial assistance, and claims 
compensation from the company employing the man who caused 
the accident. His case will remain on the files of the court for 
twelve or fourteen months. It will not be decided in less than two 
years, and yet the plaintiff is a poor fellow who, more often than 
not, has a family to support. How will he be able to wait for the 
decision of the court ? 

One of two things must happen. Either he will compound on 
disastrous terms with the insurance company which is the real 
defendant, or he will throw up judicial assistance, and fall into the 
hands of some speculative agent who will make a private bargain 


with him and sue in his name. Accident cases ought to be treated 
as urgent, and taken on specially assigned days, without having to 
wait their turn on the list. It is true that all accident cases could 
not be decided immediately ; they would have to be taken in order 
according to the date at which the writ was issued. But it would 
be a matter of months instead of years. 

As regards other cases, the crowded state of the cause list is no 
sufficient explanation of the delay they undergo. If the courts opened 
at the stated hours ; if the sittings were not indefinitely suspended ; if 
leave to have a case deferred were not so readily granted ; if, in one 
word, judges and advocates did their duty, urgent cases would 
come on in a reasonable time. The only person who profits by 
this general system of indifference is the pettifogging agent. 
Access to his office is so easy, that the advances he demands seem 
unimportant or prudent ; the client does not inquire whether this 
man who styles himself "ex-notary," "ex-solicitor," "jurisconsult," 
or " advocate," is not an ignoramus or a rascal. 

To cut down the expense of litigation, to quicken the progress 
of law-suits, to simplify procedure, and in consequence to substitute 
for monopoly some guarantees of learning and uprightness, this is 
an ideal which the necessities of the public revenue and respect for 
vested interests place hopelessly beyond our reach. The evils 
from which French justice suffers are indeed more keenly felt at 
Paris than anywhere else. It would be no small reform to establish 
a more vigilant and rigorous supervision over all persons and 
matters in the law courts, and to make costs bear some proportion 
to the interests involved. 

C 2 

Tourists in the Law Courts. 



THE world of the law courts has not merely a building to itself. 
The life with which it inspires its home has also an individuality ; 
it is original in both senses of the word. A calm life, in which the 
excitement of Parisian existence shows itself only in a faint reflec- 
tion. Just as moats filled with water used to guard the feudal 
castle against hostile attacks, so the Seine, in surrounding the 
Palace of Justice with its two arms, seems to protect it from the 
outside world. 

It is not any personal peculiarity that marks off \h.Q.justiriards } 
as they used to be called, from their fellow-men. In Paris, when 
they have put off their lawyer's caps, plain or ornamented, advocates 
and solicitors, counsellors and judges, lose themselves in the crowd 
with which they mingle. Most of them are men of the time ; they 
affect current theories ; they share in prevailing prejudices, and they 
follow the fashion of the day. They go to the Varietes, to the 
Theatre-Libre, or to the Chat-Noir, neither more nor less than 
ordinary mortals who have never donned the lawyer's garb. But 
the moment they cross the gate opening off the boulevard, or mount 
the steps which lead from the Place Dauphine, they undergo a 
change which renders them morally unrecognisable. The savant,. 


the stock-broker, the actor, carry with them everywhere the 
signs that betoken their connection with science, finance, or the 
theatre. The lawyer is only a lawyer at the law courts. We are 
going to study him on the spot, under all his aspects, in all his 
varieties ; magistrate, advocate, solicitor, usher, registrar ; while 
moving round all we shall see the throng of litigants. But it will 
not be enough to lead our readers through the corridors and halls 
of the Palace of Justice like common visitors; we shall penetrate 
farther into the world there. For we ourselves l form a humble part 
of that world, and know all its secrets ; we have questioned mem- 
bers of the profession ; we have lived their life ; and we have pushed 
our way with them into the inner chambers, far from the public 
eye, which are reserved for them alone. 


From August to the end of October, the Palace of Justice takes, 
its rest. Unlike the dormouse, it sleeps during the summer, and 
its courts only open when the leaves are falling. Up to that time 
silent and still, the vast building would seem dead, did not certain 
vacation sittings indicate that the life of the place, though suspended, 
is not quite extinct. During these three months nothing can be 
more mournful than the long empty corridors, all the more re- 
sounding for the silence around. The Salle des Pas-Perdus is a 
desert ; the galleries, usually filled with the buzz of conversation,, 
are silent ; in the robing-rooms, five or six hats, at the most, occupy 
the shelves where during the rest of the year there is not an inch 
of vacant space ; no civil actions are tried, no consultations take 
place. Sometimes, however, a rare frequenter of the place invades 
the solitude ; and, as he passes along, echo repeats in a deep tone 
the clang of the doors as they close behind him. Through the lofty 
windows, the sun, striking the white flagstones, glares upon this 
judicial Sahara. The few ill-fated advocates who cross it walk with 
an air of irritation, gloom, and weariness ; they think of their absent 
brethren whom bad fortune does not keep at Paris like themselves, 
of those who scour the fields or plunge in the sea-waves ; and irate 
at being stifled within walls, raging, perspiring, sick at heart, they 
hurry towards the court where they are expected. Often a caravan 

1 The members of the Association de la Presse juJiciaire, to whom this book is due. 


of tourists, Baedeker in hand, starts up before one of them. " Look ! 
.an advocate in his robes," says their guide, in some European 
language or other. " Really ! " they cry. They repeat the explan- 
ation to one another, stare with curiosity at the poor representative 
of the Parisian bar, and then continue their stroll through the Palace. 
Then again, for an hour, everything is quiet. The robing-room 
attendants, on duty at their posts, though unoccupied and listless, 
knit as if their senses were dulled by the heavy silence. A general 
depression weighs upon them ; they yawn with all the weariness 
produced by lying awake in a dormitory where every one else is 
.asleep. And the same sadness, the same gloom, seizes on all those 
who come to the Palace of Justice in the long vacation ; for nothing 
is so deplorable as a place of meeting without the people for whom 
it is intended ; a theatre without spectators, a museum without 
visitors, and our Palace without its familiar crowd might serve as a 
symbol of melancholy. 

We have said that in this huge sleeping body a remnant of 
activity is still manifest. Business is transacted in the Judges' 
Chambers ; there are sittings on flagrant offenders ; and the ses- 
sions of the Court of Assize are not interrupted. But even there 
everyone feels that it is the long vacation. In the sweltering heat 
there is apathy on the bench, languor at the bar, indifference even 
in the dock. Proceedings on the criminal side are devoid of interest ; 
embezzlements by clerks, petty thefts, fraudulent bankruptcies, 
misdemeanours, indecent assaults such is the uninteresting list of 
offences that come up for trial. Cases which might make a noise 
in the world have been adjourned, by tacit consent, to the next 
sessions, on the pretext of a petition to the Court of Cassation 
against an order for a new trial, or a reference to the examining 
magistrate for further information. What is the use of an argu- 
ment well conducted, or a defence well managed in the presence of 
empty benches ? The accused can easily wait till the courts reopen. 
Besides to wait is for his benefit ; he is better off in a house of 
detention than he will be when confined to the central prison, which 
expects him, or on the convict ship, sailing for New Caledonia. Let 
him be patient then as advocates are patient whose cases have been 
deferred till after the vacation. People have not the heart to 
trouble themselves about him with the thermometer at thirty 
degrees centigrade. 




But here is autumn ; coming, like the king's son in the old fairy 
tale, to awaken the sleeping beauty of law, and the dormant Palace 
of Justice. For some days past faces, lost to view since the end 
of July, have been seen again. For some days past the life-blood 
has again begun to flow through the arteries of the reviving edifice. 
From all sides people are coming back, with cheerful faces and 
outstretched hands. For a whole week the rush of arrivals will go 
on increasing in volume ; and on every hand there will be cordial 
greetings and affectionate words spoken by men sincerely glad to 
see each other again. Rest has been pleasant, and the collar of 
work is galling, but at the moment of taking to it again, men feel 
a real pleasure at rejoining their comrades in past labours. At 
sight of them, the hours of toil they have spent together come back 
to memory ; the recollection brings a smile to the lips and effaces 
fora moment the unfriendly feelings and jealousies of the by-gone 

But in this Temple of Formality work cannot be resumed 
without some preliminary ceremonies. A certain amount of pomp 
and speech-making is indispensable ; and, before settling down to 
their task, certain customary rites must be gone through, to wit, 
the Red Mass l and the Solemn Sitting. 2 


Saint- Esprit des lois ! descendez en nous ! 

Our lawyers are sceptics nowadays ; and they make us think 
of those peasants who, though unbelievers, would not for anything 
in the world cut their bread without first having made a rapid sign 
of the cross .over the loaf with the end of the knife. Counsellors, 
judges, attorneys-general and their assistants, advocates, every one 
who bears a name known to the bench or the bar, -attends the Red 
Mass at the opening of the legal year. Yet it may be taken for 
granted that it is not faith which brings together the greater part 
of these worshippers beneath the vaulted roof of the church of 

1 La messc rou?e. - L 1 audience solennelle. 


Saint-Louis. Still if religion is not the cherished object of their 
affections, it is none the less the oldest of their prejudices. The 
majority go there just as people go to many a place in Paris, 
partly to see, but really because it is a first representation, the 
grand first representation of the judicial year. And thus the Red 
Mass is in no danger of being abolished. And, putting philosophy 
aside, we say so much the better, for it is an interesting spectacle 
and most picturesque. It removes the thoughts far away from the 
world that rumbles outside the door, carries them back to far 


distant times, and revives, for an hour, something of the old 
ceremonial of the courts, and the stately pageantry of days gone by. 

The scene is superb : the wonderful Sainte-Chapelle, usually 
so cold and dead, on this one day of the year comes back for a few 
moments to life. 

It is noon : the old glass of the windows, set in lace-like tracery 
of stone, allows the mellow rays of the autumn sun to struggle 
through, flecking with tints of violet, red, yellow, and blue the 
slender columns, the pointed arches, and the gold-starred walls. 



The patches of colour on the walls might be taken for fantastic 
offerings, fastened up by a mischievous chorister. The nave is 
crowded with worshippers, half of them robed in red. It is an 
astonishing blaze of scarlet, tempered here and there by the white 
gleam of ermine. Red is the robe of the Cardinal-Archbishop of 
Paris as he stands by his golden chair in front of the illuminated 
high altar ; red are the gowns of the counsellors of the Supreme 
Court on the right ; red the members of the Court of Appeal on 
the left ; red the attorney-general who stands behind ; red the 
advocates-general, and red their deputies all is one blaze of red. 

The effect is gorgeous ; to complete it and give it a true air of 
antiquity, one is almost sorry not to see behind these magistrates in 
full dress, one of those appalling headsmen of old time, so grand 
and grim in their purple doublets, as we knew them in the pictures 
of our childish story books. 

As if to make the colouring of this foreground stand out more 
boldly, the back of the chapel is packed with rows of magistrates 
all clad in black. 

Judges of the Civil Tribunal and of the Tribunal of Commerce, 
the Procureur of the Republic, the members of the Council of the 
Order of Advocates, solicitors, ushers of the courts, and others ; 
lastly, perched in a little gallery, are a few privileged spectators 
of both sexes. The spectacle, as we see, is no ordinary one. But 
it is not the eyes alone that are gratified. The choir of Notre 
Dame lend their gracious aid to the celebration ; and sometimes 
it is hard to keep from applauding the superb voices which intone 
the Veni Creator, the Domine Salvam, &c., accompanied by harp 
and organ. 

The mass ended, there begins a procession more curious still. 
With the strictest regard to precedence, the worshippers traverse the 
terrace, the walls of which are for this occasion hung with Gobelins 
tapestry, and pass slowly into the Galerie Merciere. Nothing can 
be more amusing for an observer than to study the attitudes and 
the countenances of the magistrates as they pass. It is like the 
judicial history of half a century unfolding itself in a panorama. 
At the head come the veterans of old time, phantoms of ancient 
judges, who make an effort to remain majestic beneath the weight 
of years. Their cheeks are hairless and pinched, their small eyes 
sunk deep in the orbits. A few white hairs straggle from beneath 
their cap, under which one can picture the polished white crown. 


Their character, their worship of tradition and form, may be read 
in the stock which supports their necks ; rising high above the 
collar of the coat, and stiffening the rugged and wrinkled head. 
After them comes the next generation ; the figure is stout, gray 
whiskers fringe the pale cheeks, the lips are set, close-shaved, 
crafty, and have a look of weariness ; the cravat is less voluminous, 
the step firmer. With the judges of the Civil Tribunal appears 
the modern face ; the head erect, the eye bright ; the sceptical 
mouth wears a slight smile. They step out, thinking of the gallery 
as much as of the regularity of the procession ; they find that 
those in front of them take a long time to cover the ground, and, 
little by little, they show annoyance at having to move so slowly. 
Meanwhile, kept back by the municipal guards presenting arms, 
the onlookers form a hedge on either side and press forward to 
get a glimpse of the men in red as they pass. 


The worshippers at the Red Mass make their way straight to 
the first chamber of the Court of Appeal where the Solemn Sitting, 
which might also be called the Red Sitting, is about to be opened. 
The judges of the Court of Appeal and the functionaries of the public 
ministry appear there in the same costume as in the Sainte- 
Chapelle ; and, still in their scarlet robes, they leave the council 
chamber and place themselves on the benches ranged on either side 
of the pretorium. The judges take up their position on the right, 
the law officers on the left. The first president of the Court of 
Appeal takes his seat surrounded by his colleagues ; the benches 
allotted to advocates are filled by the members of the council of 
the order and by a few fair visitors who, on the pretext that they 
too wear the gown, have insinuated themselves before any one else 
into these reserved places. At the back, there is a standing crowd 
made up of the junior bar, the probationers and a few idlers. 

" The Solemn Sitting is open," proclaims the first president of 
the Court of Appeal, after a moment's pause. " We call on the 
Procureur-General." The Procureur-General, who is seated first on 
the bench allotted to the law officers, rises and says, " With the per- 
mission of the first president, I will give way to the advocate- 
general, X or Y. 



The first president inclines his head in token of approval, and 
Mr. Advocate-General X or Y, who is on the left of the Procureur- 
General, rises with a sheaf of papers in his hand, while his superior, 
the Procureur-General, resumes his seat. Then, in the midst of a 
rather cold, almost hostile silence, he begins reading a thesis on 
some point of law. The young and bold usually take for their 
subject some question which has been a little in dispute : the proof 
of paternity, divorce, the paternal authority, and the right of 
correction. Sometimes, even, they take up criminal subjects: trans- 
portation, the solitary system, tickets of leave. Two essayists have 
recently been rash enough to enter upon politics. The older hands, 
those who are really versed in legal traditions, choose, on the 
contrary, as dry a subject as possible marine insurance, the law of 
mortgage, the contract of carriage for hire, and so on. 

What is the connection between these questions and the 
reopening of the law courts ? What is gained by turning the 
Court of Appeal into a students' debating society ? These are 
inquiries which indiscreet persons may take upon themselves to 
make, and they are not easy to answer. On this point, however, 
we may venture to display a little a very little erudition, which 
will perhaps put investigators on the road to truth. The custom of 
reading an essay at the reopening of the courts would seem to 
have had its origin in a fancy which one day, in the sixteenth 
century, seized on Dumenil, the king's advocate, to quote in full 
parliament the commentaries of the grammarian Asconius Pedanius 
on the orations of Cicero, in order to show the difference which 
existed, at Rome, between the advocate and the law officer of the 

This dissertation, like those of the present time, had some 
congruity with the solemnity of the day, but in succeeding years 
the strange spectacle was witnessed of magistrates discussing in 
connection with the reopening of the parliaments all kinds of 
subjects, theological, metaphysical, and scientific. Omer Talon 
talked about time and sun-dials, colours, angels, fire, and the birth 
of Minerva ; which later on led his son, Denis Talon, to apologize 
for not being able to examine into the question whether the stars 
are fastened to the sky, or are formed from vortices of particles like 
the dust of our earth, whether the sun is placed in the centre of 
the universe, whether one ought to admire the division into four 
elements, the substantive forms of Aristotle, Plato's doctrine of 

D 2 


reminiscence, the conflict of bodily humours, and the circulation of 
the blood. And all this on the occasion of the reopening of the law 
courts ! 

In our own day, the opening address always ends badly. It 
concludes, that is to say, with an obituary notice of all the 
magistrates who have died during the past year. Most of them 
belong to the illustrious unknown ; but for the time being they are 
raised to the rank of great men. Must it be said ? This little 
general interment, coming after the consideration of some point of 
law, this funeral oration after a juridical harangue, would seem 
somewhat grotesque and almost comic to any one who was 
unprepared for it. 

A few compliments to the advocates and solicitors of the court 
usually serve as a postscript to the discourse ; and after this the 
president of the order and the senior advocates present renew their 
oaths. And if the Procureur-General has no requisitions to make, 
the Solemn Sitting concludes. The judicial year has begun. 




As a general rule, it is 
only towards eleven o'clock 
that the Law Courts begin 
to show signs of life. One 
step at a time, a few magis- 
trates who are due at morn- 
ing sittings toil up one of 
the great staircases of the 
Palace. Advocates who have to argue at these sittings run up 
in hot haste, afraid of being late ; but they stop to take breath 
when they catch sight of a magistrate, knowing that it is not 
worth while hurrying any longer ; and the usual forms of 
polite greeting follow, accompanied by a ceremonious bow or 
brief shake of the hand. The magistrate reaches his private 
room ; the advocate dons his gown, ties his bands round his 
neck, puts on his cap and disappears in his turn. Silence again, 
broken by arrivals that become gradually more frequent ; clatter of 
banging doors ; sound of last words of conversations in the 
street below which can be heard distinctly in the stone galleries. 
The arrivals now follow each other quite closely, so closely that 
acquaintances bound for the same destination are constantly 
meeting outside and enter in groups. The omnibuses, especially 
those on the line from the St. Lazare Railway Station to the 
Boulevard St. Michel, bring regular loads of advocates, magistrates, 
registrars, and ushers enough to make up a whole courtful of 
themselves. For it is not every advocate or magistrate who can 
afford the luxury of stepping out gallantly from his own private 


carriage, or of coming in a cab and paying the fare without even 
turning his head, as a man does when in a hurry. Towards half- 
past twelve or one o'clock the rush. diminishes ; the lawyers, who 
send their clerks on beforehand, arrive at their ease, some who are 
late come running ; while idlers saunter in to take a look round. 
The robing rooms, which for three-quarters of an hour have been 
thronged, grow empty. 

The advocates have three robing rooms. In the gallery facing 
the Boulevard du Palais there is a partition its upper half con- 
sisting of ground glass which leaves a narrow passage between 
itself and the wall. This is the robing- room known as the Vestiaire 


Bosc. There are three recesses in the wall so as to give more 
space ; and at the other end of the gallery, looking out on 
the Cour de Mai, stands a little glass-house called by 
humourists the aquarium which forms a useful addition to 
the robing room. Through two wickets in the partition can be 
seen a couple of damsels who take charge of the coats and hats ; 
and, standing in the recesses, one can behold with admiration 
through the robing room doors the great luminaries of the Bar in 
their shirt sleeves and without neckties, performing their toilet in 
front of the looking glass. Their different habits are well known. 
Maitre F - always takes off his coat, even in winter, and puts 



on a jersey or a pair of lutestring sleeves; Maitre W never 

takes off his necktie ; Maitre D - always does and. 
sometimes forgets to put it on again ; Maitre Lachaud 
used to bring a flannel waistcoat in his brief-bag ; Maitre 

V has a store of little cakes to fall back on in case of need ; 

Maitre M - some sandwiches ; Maitre Lente used to have a 
flask of ether and a crust of bread. Time may be well spent in 
studying the different modes in which the bands are put on. 


Some fasten the strings behind ; others tie them in front, holding 
meanwhile the tip of the bands between their teeth ; others pass 
the bands under their collar button ; others fasten the top part 
between the necktie and the shirt without taking any precaution 
to prevent the bands from working up to their very chin. As 
increasing numbers put by their hats, rows of bandboxes begin to 
line the rack of the partition. 

On the staircase leading to the Court of Appeal is a private 
door, which leads under gloomy archways to two little rooms lined 
with cupboards. These form the dressing room taken charge 


of by the court porter. The interior has a homelike look ; a 
woman and a young girl sit sewing at the window. 

The dressing room known as the Vestiaire Fontaine is at the 
other entrance, on the side of the Pla'ce Dauphine, an official- 
looking, comfortable place with well-polished tables and a lavatory 
attached to it. Please note an ingenious little stick with which 
to take down, as in a tilt-yard, the band boxes on the shelves 
above. Those who use the Vestiaire Fontaine have also their 

little peculiarities. Maitre La possesses a gown sewn in a 

particular way, with buttons on the collar and button-holes in his 
bands so as to fasten them on tightly ; Maitre Ma , an ex- 
president of the Council of the Order, wears beneath his gown 
an old coat, the skirts of which have been cut off, so that it 

resembles the jacket of a waiter at a cafe. Maitre Be , another 

ex-president, pushes his necktie round to the back of his neck and 
keeps it on underneath his gown, fastening it in place by a pin. 

There is a wonderful variety in the legal costume. The 
official dress is always the same, a black gown with two buttons 
on the shoulder to which is attached the epitoge or hood. The 
latter is shaped like a macaroon, with two loose flaps falling 
the longer one in front, the shorter behind. For solemn sittings, 
great ceremonies, and the Court of Assize the flaps are trimmed 
with ermine. Besides these, there are the bands more or less 
plaited, and the flat cap like that of a parish priest. But there 
are differences in the material of the gown and in the style of 
wearing it ; as a rule it is worn with the skirt somewhat raised ; 
sometimes it sweeps the ground, thus giving the wearer the 
appearance of a tall black sugar-loaf. The caps also have their 
degrees of cost, and get out of shape in different ways according 
to the different handling of the wearer. The stylish kind is 

worn by Maitre B.-D , rigidly cylindrical, lined with white 

silk, on which are printed the owner's initials. Maitre M.-J 

prefers one more elastic ; Maitre W.-R never wears one at all. 


The advocates whom we have just seen in the hurry of arrival 
and the undress of preparation, whom we shall find again walking 
up and down the corridors, gossiping in the Pas-Perdus and 


addressing the courts, form a strong corporation, proud of its past 
and jealous of its privileges. 

As one would expect, certain parts of the Palace are set apart 
for it, where the members work and talk scandal ; where they elect 
representatives of the Council, where the Council of Discipline 
sits, and the batonnier, the grand master of the institution, has his 
throne ; where the business affairs of the Order are administered ; 

After the portrait by Mile. Nelly Jacquemart. 

and where penniless defendants come to seek counsel who will under- 
take their cases out of charity. 

At Paris, advocates only have the right to plead for clients, but 
power is reserved to solicitors to apply to the court in any difficulties 
of procedure and on any incidental points which are capable of sum- 
mary decision. In civil cases, a party interested cannot even 


appear in person with the assistance of his solicitor, unless he ob- 
tains leave from the tribunal. A person indicted before the Court 
of Assize has the right of choosing as his advocate any of his rela- 
tives or friends, but only with the sanction of the presiding judge. 
The Order of Advocates, with its exclusive right of pleading, takes 
great pride in an origin which goes back to the year 5 18 of our era ; 
and it glories in a founder who was no less a personage than the 
uncle of that Emperor Justinian, whom M. Victorien Sardou has 
lately brought before us on the stage of the Porte-St.-Martin theatre. 

The Bar has passed through many changes of fortune. At 
one time lost to sight, then reappearing, thanks to Charlemagne, 
and preserving its continuity under the varied names of causidici, 
of avantparliers, of plaidoux^ and of chevaliers de la lot, finally in 
the reign of St. Louis forming itself into the " Order of Advocates," 
so as to be distinguished from the guilds of artisans established at 
that time. By turns losing and regaining some of their privileges, 
the advocates maintained their organisation till the date of the 
Constituent Assembly, which on the 2nd September, 1790, decreed 
that " the men of law heretofore called advocates, being no longer 
permitted to form an order or corporation, shall wear no particular 
costume in the exercise of their calling." The Revolution proved 
only an eclipse for the profession. The ex-advocates entered 
themselves on a list to which they admitted only men of their own 
choice, and thus formed a small voluntary society in the midst of 
the unorganised mass of people who were allowed to practise as 
" men of law." This list acquired a legal character, and the Order 
of Advocates was reconstituted by a law of the 22nd Ventose, 
year XII. which also reorganised the Schools of Law. 

Since that time the monopoly of the " Order of Advocates," 
has been untouched. There are, it is true, certain privileges which 
it has not recovered and doubtless never will recover : for example, 
the right once enjoyed by advocates of removing from their neigh- 
bourhood all artisans likely to annoy them during their work, the 
right of wearing a red robe or a silk sash and wearing gloves 
while pleading in court, and the right to the rank of nobles. But 
the law relieves them from the danger of outside competition ; while 
in return the Bar offers incontestable guarantees of good faith 
and provides all in distressed circumstances with unpaid defenders. 

Successive ordinances and decrees have been passed to regulate 
the profession of advocate, the mode of keeping the Table of the 


Order, the elections to the Council of Discipline and the choice of 
the President. The Table of the Order, for each Bar, is the list on 
which are written, in order of seniority, the names of those advocates 
who have passed the period of probation and been duly ad- 
mitted either by the Council of Discipline or by the tribunal en- 
trusted with this duty. The whole body of admitted advocates in 
any one place constitutes the Bar. For every Bar comprising more 
than twenty advocates (at Paris, for example, where there are 962 
on the Table), the discipline and the interests of the Order in 
general are entrusted to a Council, called " Council of Discipline'' 
or " Council of the Order." It is elected every year by the body of 
advocates on the Table, and presided over by a batonnier who is 
the head or, rather, the representative of the Order. 

In days gone by the dean, that is the oldest advocate on the 
roll, was head of the Order. His chief duty was to ask the Parlia- 
ment for a holiday for the " Lendit " and the ' ; day of St. Nicholas," 
patron saint of advocates. As there was always the risk of having 
a dean broken down by weight of years, the custom arose of 
choosing, at the same election, another representative of the Order, 
known as the batonnier. He is thus styled because one of his 
duties is to carry, at all solemn processions, the staff of the banner 
of St. Nicholas, the patron saint of advocates. Under the old 
Monarchy the batonnier was chosen by the assembly of advocates- 
After the Revolution, he was nominated by the attorney-general. 
From 1822 to 1830, and from 1852 to 1870, his election was in 
the hands of the Council of the Order. During the years 1830 to 
1852, and from the beginning of the third Republic, the batonnier 
has been chosen by the votes of the whole Bar. 

The batonnier has to speak in the name of the Bar on solemn 
occasions such as funeral ceremonies ; undertakes the details of 
administrative work, appoints advocates for the defence of poor 
prisoners, listens to all complaints, gives advice to young advocates, 
settles disputes, sees that due respect is shown to his brethren at 
the Bar, and, whenever necessary, admonishes those who have 
committed some slight breach of political etiquette. 

The Council of Discipline looks after the pecuniary interests of 
the Bar ; for the Order has a treasury of its own kept up by a 
compulsory subscription of thirty francs a year from each of its 
members ; the Council distributes help among advocates, or the 
families of old advocates, who are in distress ; and has power to 


impose fines when incurred, a paternal warning to be administered 
by the batonnier to the delinquent, a warning to be formally notified 
to the offender, a reprimand, suspension or erasure from the Table 
of Advocates. The Council of Discipline, lastly, admits candidates 
to the rank of probationers, 1 and revises the Table of Advocates 
every year. 

To be entitled to plead in court, a man must have first obtained 
the rank of licentiate in law, and taken an oath before one of the 
Courts of Appeal. This only gives him the bare title of Advocate. 
He must, in addition, have his name inscribed on a table of 
advocates, and be formally admited probationer by a Council of 
Discipline, after an investigation into his moral character and 
private means. He then becomes a member of the Bar, practising 
at such and such a court or tribunal. 

A man who has been admitted to one Bar can plead at any 
other. The advocates of Paris appear in the provinces, and the 
Parisian judges are addressed by more than one provincial advocate. 

The probationer has the same rights as regards pleading in 
court as an advocate who is fully qualified; but, at Paris at least, 
his name does not appear on any official table. A man ambitious 
of passing his probationership at Paris (the formalities are not so 
severe in the provinces) must be provided with his diploma of 
licentiate in law, be able to show that he really lives in Paris, has 
furniture, and is of good morals for which purpose his concierge 
should have nothing but good to say about him and, lastly, he 
must have no interest in any commercial business, and he must 
not practise any other profession than that of advocate, not even the 
giving of French lessons to eke out the fees which perchance will 
never come. Before 1870 he was, besides this, compelled to shave 
his moustache. 

When our candidate has taken all these precautions and 
resolutions, he will carry his diploma to a very worthy gentleman 
at the Procureur-General's office ; then, after making some calls and 
leaving cards with the concierges, he will bring his papers to the 
office of the secretary to the Council of the Order. 

This is the beginning of his career. 

Budding advocates about to blossom in the beer-houses of the 
Quartier Latin, fathers who dream of the lawyer's gown for your 
sons, turn your eyes to the end of the Palace, near the Place 

1 Stagiaires. 


Dauphine, and there at the extremity of the new buildings of the 
Court of Appeal, you will see a staircase and a wooden gallery 
which like a Venetian bridge spans the court below. This is the 
path which leads to the Bar. 

The neophyte, favoured of the gods, who crosses the bridge for 
the first time, will perhaps hear the sound of children's voices, 
ascending in shrill discordant cadences from a small garden. 

By standing on tiptoe till he reaches the glass of the gallery, he 
will see below him the charming garden, closely walled in on three 
sides, and filled with troops of imprisoned children. 

Even though the sound of voices should not arouse his curiosity, 
the future defender of orphans should none the less hoist himself 
up to see what lies below. In a sanded court, prettily enlivened 
here and there by evergreens, he will notice the figure of a sister of 
mercy, a harmony in blue, white and black, possibly with a com- 
panion, while through the open door at the end of the -garden the 
light shines in on a flight of steps, and a nuns' refectory. It is the 
only part of the Palace which possesses any mystical charm, and is 
known to few. 

On the other side of the gallery there are no windows. Were 
there any, they would afford a view of a prison yard swarming with 
women prisoners engaged in having their lunch ; this yard is only 
separated by a corridor from the building allotted to the sisters of 

We now come to a square on which opens out the library, a 
robing room door, a large and gloomy corridor lighted by gas, and 
a private door which leads to the office of the secretary to the Order. 

At the end of a dark narrow passage (by pushing a glass dcor 
one is in full daylight) we come to a flight of steps, with a balustrade, 
and handsome but somewhat steep, descending to the cheerful 
apartment occupied by the apparitor of the Order of Advocates. It 
is impossible to think of the apparitor as otherwise than immortal. 
As he is to-day, so he will always be, grave and polite, by name 
Leon, with the manners of a majordomo who has made his fortune 
and would be on good terms with all. His blonde whiskers have 
grown gray, his shoulders have slightly rounded ; but we do not 
notice it, and to us Leon will always be the eternal apparitor of the 
Order, just as Delaunay used to be the eternal stage lover, and his 
successor will only be a new incarnation of himself. 

With what a kind yet lofty grace does he guide the first steps 


of the candidate for forensic honours, initiate him in the ceremonies 
to be observed, and teach him the traditions of the oath ! He 
provides the agenda papers, distributes the printed Tables of the 
Order, and is, in short, the batonniers factotum. Imbued with 
reverence for the place, he must find it hard to take his plumed 
cocked hat and silver chain with the pendant medal, which are the 
insignia of his office, from their case without deep emotion. The 
day to see him is Tuesday, when the Council meets. He is more 
majestic than usual then, though quite unassuming, and salutes 
with a shade of respect the ex-batonniers as they pass by. A little 
after two o'clock on Tuesday, the members of the Council may be 
seen descending the stairs with heavy tread towards the apparitor's 
room. The procession is curious. The straight steep staircase is 
well suited to stately members who are still strong and not short- 
sighted ; and they take the steps slowly and regularly. But the 
feeble take some time, and make the descent slowly, and walking 
sideways ; the excited run down as briskly as they can, catching 
at the useless rail with hurried movements of the left hand, whilst 
others come down delicately, feeling the way at every step with 
their foot before they set it down. All promptly disappear to the 
left, at the end of a corridor, with a rapid noise of doors opening and 
shutting. We are now at the Council Hall, a lofty, well-lighted apart- 
ment, occupied by a table with a green cloth, around which the 
elect of the Order deliberate beneath the protecting presence of the 
elder Berryer, a fine pastel ; of a portrait of Dufaure, painted by 
Mdlle. Nelly Jacquemart ; of one of Chaix d'Est-Ange, after 
Hippolyte Flandrin, and of photographs and medallions of other 
eminent counsel departed. 

It will be a lucky chance for the probationer candidate if he 
comes with his diploma to the secretary's office on the day when 
the Council have summoned before them a member who has 
committed some fault through awkwardness or inadvertence. He 
will have a foretaste of the vexations of the profession at 
the very moment when he is just beginning to relish its 
first joys. He will see the culprit pacing up and down with 
nervous but rather haughty gait ; he will note the side glances 
which advocates come for some other purpose cast at one another, 
each suspecting his neighbour to be the person cited before the 
Council, and he will observe Leon trying to put every one at his 
case, and seemingly unconscious of the coming storm. 


As a rule the only people who pass by Leon's table or sit in 
the window-sill from which one can see the dark tree-tops of the 
Place Dauphine are solicitors timidly looking for an advocate, 
solicitors' clerks with papers, youthful members of the Bar come to 
obtain some special information, or learned counsel waiting for 
the time when the bdtonnier is open to visitors in his private room. 
This is a typical lawyer's study, plainly furnished, its only orna- 
ments being a bust of Gerbier by Houdon, a portrait of Dupin by 
Court, a plaster medallion of Chaix d'Est-Ange taken from the 
portrait by Flandrin, and the sole existing bust of Tronchet. The 
room also contains a cabinet of medals which were found under 
the ruins of the former council chamber, burnt in 1871, and a few 
engravings of the old law courts. 

In the summer the scene from the secretary's ante-chamber is 
much more lively ; the eye is dazzled by the vivid green of the 
trees, the white glint of the houses opposite, and the glare of 
sunlight. In the stone gallery at the head of the stairs all along 
the balustrade one can see advocates, looking like the figures in a 
monochrome of the marriage at Cana ; walking up and down 
indefatigably, rustling their black robes with violent gestures or 
draping them in statuesque folds. From midday till four there is 
a continual procession of advocates coming to take a drink from 
the cask of fresh liquorice \vater, provided for them by the 
Council. And Leon watches to see that only members of the 
Paris Bar refresh themselves there ; if any intruder pushes in, he 
warns him off with a severe reprimand or a stately wave of the 
hand ; in serious cases he informs the Council. 

The apartments allotted to the Bar include, lastly, a private 
office for the secretary and one for the treasurer. To the latter 
place the future probationer goes with timid steps to pay his 
admission fees ; here, also, he will come later on to be inscribed on 
the list of those ready to plead gratis for poor prisoners; 1 here, 
lastly, if he goes on with his career during his whole life at the Bar, 
is the place for paying the annual subscription, with which, it is 
not at all improbable, he will be generally behindhand. 

The last duty of a candidate for the probationership is to 
submit to an investigation into his private affairs, and receive the 
visit of an inspector nominated by the Council of the Order. As a 
rule the inspector is satisfied with a talk with your porter just to 

1 A barrister who pleads for nothing is called an avocat cfoff~.ce. 



see that you have not given a false address, that your apartment 
does credit to the corporation which is going to take you to its 
bosom, and that you do not scandalise the neighbours by your 
mode of life. Conscientious inspectors those who love youth 
and think of the possible votes of future electors will climb five 


stories, if need be, and enter into a familiar conversation with the 
amazed future voter. Have no fear even though a petticoat be 
hanging on the back of the sofa ; the inspector will be discreet 
and place himself so as not to see it. As a matter of fact the 
investigation is not severe. Complaints are made that it con- 


stitutes an invasion of private life. But it was much worse in old 
days. It was then the fashion to exclude from the Bar those who 
had failed to show respect to their parents, had declined public 
office, had been seen in dubious resorts, or had squandered their 
patrimony in riotous living. The Bar was also closed to those who 
were not Catholics, and to those who happened to be blind or deaf. 
At the law courts to-day one has a choice of all religions ; the 
deaf are numerous, and the one-eyed, if not the blind, are legion. 
After the inspector's visit comes the candidate's formal admission 
by the Council, and, the same night, a delightful letter from the 
inspector informing you of the fact and addressing you as " our 
dear colleague." 

A few days afterwards the candidate, conducted by Leon 
and presented by the bdtonnier, takes the oath before the chief 
president of the Court of Appeal. All is now finished. The 
probationer will then enter on his duties ; during the ensuing 
three or five years he will assist at a certain number of con- 
ferences held every Monday, signing his name on a slip of paper 
in the office in front of the public auction room ; l twice a year he 
will be present at the assembly of the sections into which the Bar 
is divided ; at the end of this period he will be entitled to have 
his name entered on the Table of the Bar. 

If, by the conclusion of the fifth year, he does not ask to be 
entered, from fear of the patent fees, the treasurer of the Council 
will send for him and, after a short address in praise of the 
profession, will place before him the alternative of having his name 
entered or bidding good-bye to the gown. 

We shall again see the probationer being sworn in, and 
taking part in the Monday conferences. Let us now describe his 
experiences at an assembly of the sections. 2 


In the early morning, at half-past nine or ten o'clock, our 
probationer makes his way to the Council Chamber or to one of 
the rooms which go to form the library. Other probationers are 
there in legal costume, grouped round a table at which is sitting 

1 Salle dts criees. 

2 Or meeting of the Columns. The French is relation de colonnes. 



a member of the Council. With him, as secretary, is a probationer 
who has been classed among the first twelve at the last conference. 
The member of the committee expatiates at length on the subjects 
mentioned in the programme, and puts some difficult questions to 
the probationers present. These young men, who a moment ago 
were displaying their new feathers in the galleries of the Palace, 
suddenly fall back into the nervousness of the candidate, and give 
answers at random which they fancy may suit the examiner's taste, 
while the secretary smiles with an expression of ominous sarcasm. 
From time to time an orator appears ; a probationer crammed 
with facts, who gets to the root of the controversy, and corners the 
president of the section. 

The gravest questions of the profession are discussed in these 

Questions of incompatibility. 

Can an advocate be a teacher of the deaf and dumb ? No. 

Can he be an actor ? Yes, but only if he accepts no salary. 

Can he be a doctor ? No, for he cannot be at the law courts 
and with his patients at the same time ; an advocate owes all his 
time to his clients. 

The advocate, however, can be a deputy or a senator. Is this 
because a representative of the people is supposed never to attend 
in his seat in Parliament ? 

The question of fees forms a subject by itself ; it comprises a 
chapter full of interest for members of the junior Bar who, 
having never pleaded otherwise than gratis, are delighted when 
they hear mention of that rare bird, the client who pays. 

The theory laid down for their instruction is simple. " Fees 
must be offered by the client of his own free will ; the advocate 
cannot claim them." 

The mere statement of this theory immediately strikes the 
probationer dumb. He asks himself how the president of his 
section, in ordinary matters a business-like man, comfortably off 
and free from all chimeras, has been able to remain so long in such 
a profession. Some presidents of sections, either too sceptical or 
over sincere, will, it is true, state this theory, prove its wisdom, and 
point out that it is based on disinterestedness and devotion, the 
foundation of the true advocate's character. They will show, 
moreover, that its aim is to check demands which under the 
circumstances would naturally tend to become excessive. But, all 


the same, they have no hesitation in enumerating the methods by 
which practice has been able to effect a compromise with principle. 
Either the solicitor, on whom there are no restrictions, under- 
takes to ask for counsel's fees, or the barrister, at the second 
visit for it would not be proper on the first occasion after a certain 
amount of circumlocution mentions the amount of his fees to the 
client ; if the latter turns a deaf ear, it is usual to send him a 
letter to the effect that another interview is urgently needed, " for 
final instructions " so the formula runs and in the recesses of 
the consulting room the barrister asks for what he wants : one 
must earn one's living. Demands by letter, however, are strictly 
forbidden : so long as the demand is made by word of mouth, any 
method may be used, at any rate before the suit is tried. 

The trial once ended, the advocate has no resource against an 
obstinate debtor ; and, if he clamours for his due, the debtor will 
complain to the Council. 

" Wherefore, my young friends, let those of you who do not 
disdain pecuniary considerations remember to ask for your fees 
beforehand, and by word of mouth." We have had the theory ; 
this is the practice. 

The probationer is a little reassured ; but his brow will soon 
again grow cloudy. After the chapter dealing with fees, comes 
the lesson on seeking for clients. How are clients to discover 
unknown talent ? What means are there of attracting their 
attention ? None whatever. To canvass for clients is forbidden. 
The advocate must await the hoped-for client in his own chambers, 
at certain fixed hours, which he is not even allowed to print at the 
head of his writing paper. Unless the young advocate possess 
zealous patrons who will keep him before the public, family 
influence, or the interest of some important man of business, 
clients will not come to him. 

There is a well-worn legend of the advocate who made himself 
known by a brilliant argument in some suit without remuneration ; 
but do not believe it, my young friends ; do not believe that real 
clients will come to you because your name has been five or six 
times in the newspapers, and because you have won a great success in 
some sensational case. In eight days, unless you happen to be a 
regular pleader at the assizes, nobody will think any more about you ; 
and during your consultation hours you will wait in vain for a ring 
at the bell. Unless you have laid in a large stock of patience, 


unless you can stand all kinds of disappointment, if you cannot 
help envying blockheads who are luckier than yourself, if the joy 
of pleading once in a way does not console you for all the rest, or 
if you do not feel any aptitude for making advances in the right 
quarter or for forming advantageous friendships, then hang up 
your gown in the robing room, lock up your cap, and try a more 
remunerative career. Amen. 


The " lessons" above described are usually given in the library. 
It is open for advocates at eleven o'clock. Let us pay it a visit, 
although it is closed to laymen, with the exception that they may 
stand on the threshold to summon some legal friend within, and 
may enter if they wish to speak to the amiable librarian, M. 
Boucher. But perhaps you would like to hear its history ? Know 
then that the advocates' library dates from 1708. It was founded 
out of the money left by Etienne Gabriau de Riparfonds, advocate 
in the Parliament of Paris. This worthy loved his profession more 
than anything in the world ; he thought also that "an advocate who 
can speak is worth nothing unless he has gone through solid studies 
which ripen the mind, and render forensic controversy clear and 
full of instruction for the listeners." And therefore he bequeathed 
to the Bar of Paris an annuity of 800 francs a year and the 
library, composed partly of the law books given him by his god- 
father, partly of the additions made thereto by himself "on all 
and every occasion that the state of his fortune or his family had 
allowed them." 

After four years had been spent in looking for premises, the 
library was first established in 1708, rather far from the law courts, 
in a gallery rented from the Archbishop of Paris. It was situated 
on the third floor of a pavilion in the outer court of the episcopal 
palace, between Notre-Dame and the Seine. 

The books numbered 10,000 altogether, and there were few 
readers; in 1725 the library was in the care of an old woman 
assisted by a young girl of seventeen ; and they were not troubled 
much by intruders. But on this spot were held the meetings of 
the Council of the Order, the sittings of the committee for free 
consultations, and the conferences, assemblies where the seniors 
came to hear essays read by the junior bar. 


An engraving by Saint-Aubin, minutely described and com- 
mented upon by M. Herbet in The Annual Transactions of the 
Conference of Advocates for 1889, represents a conference at the 
library in 1776. 

At the Revolution the Order of Advocates was suppressed, and 
their books confiscated by the State. They eventually fell to the 
Court of Cassation ; and, at the library of the Supreme Tribunal, 
books may still be found stamped with the words " Bibliotheque 
des avocats, 1762." Even before the re-establishment of the Order, 
the library had been re-formed ; an old advocate, named Nicolas 
Ferey, bequeathed his library in 1806 to the Order of Advocates, 
" under whatever name it might please his Majesty to re-establish 
it" : and the Order, on its reconstruction in 1810, was authorised 
to accept the legacy. 

From this date, the advocates' library remained fixed in a 
narrow, dark corner in the midst of the buildings occupied by the 
Court of Appeal, near the present Chamber of Indictments, 1 at the 
end of the gloomy corridor allotted to the ushers of this court. 
It grew gradually wealthier from gifts made by retiring barristers, 
till in 1870 it contained 25,613 volumes. 

Then came another catastrophe ; one of the rooms of which 
the library was formed was burnt during the last days of the 
Commune, many precious books being destroyed, in spite of the 
devotion of the bdtonnier, Maitre Rousse, and of the librarian, 
M. Boucher, father of the present librarian. At the present day, 
the losses have been made good, and the younger M. Boucher has 
38,000 volumes under his care. 

The dark, narrow library of old has been transformed into a 
comfortable establishment. But the change has only been effected 
recently. The library at first consisted of a corridor overlooking 
the exquisite court where the nuns of the prison ply their task ; 
the corridor opened into two narrow chambers where the books 
stood in piles upon piles. The present installation was soon 
finished by opening a large hall in communication with the 
corridor, which was turned into a gallery ; it only remained to 
unpack the judicial records heaped up in this place. This work 
lasted eleven years, and it was not till the beginning of the 
October sittings in 1890 that, thanks to the persistence of the 
Batonnier, Maitre Cresson, energetically seconded by those advo- 

1 Chambre des inises en accusation. 


cates who were members of the Municipal Council, the actual 
rearrangement of the books could be completed. 

The Bar have now got a library to be proud of. A vast reading 
room, with the gallery as an annexe, two stories of book-cases 
protected by wire gauze, the upper part being rendered accessible 
by a light iron foot-bridge ; a long table, as if intended for 
conferences, some smaller ones that might do for supper parties, 
and writing materials everywhere. The decoration is of the 
approved kind. There are two pieces of Gobelins tapestry 
between the windows, representing Bonaparte surrounded by 
diplomatists and soldiers ; above one of the windows is a 
memorial plate : 




Scattered about, and forming a collection useful to biographers, 
are the busts of old batonniers : an enormous one of Jules Favre, by 
Barrias ; one of Paillet, beautifully carved by Pradier ; a graceful 
one of Marie with the hair curled, the cheeks creased, the lips set ; 
one of Nicolet, by his wife, delicious in its charm and ironical 
elegance. There is another one which merits particular mention ; 
at the foot of the staircase leading from the great hall to the foot- 
bridge is a bust of Gerbier, an exquisite face, with an expression of 
raillery softened by abundant good humour. While the fire of 1871 
was at its height, Maitre Rousse might have been seen " carrying 
this bust into safety, through a maze of staircases, beams and ropes, 
like pious ^Eneas on the last night of Ilium, with old Anchises and 
his household godson his shoulders." 

A deep recess shows us the office of the librarian. As already 
stated, he is M. Boucher, son of a librarian, and, one may hope, 
father of a librarian, for his son is already employed in the place. 
His politeness is proverbial, and, with a charming grace, he has 
placed his memoirs and papers at our disposal. Of the two other 
apartments which in times gone by formed the whole library, one, 
called the newspaper-room, has, over the looking-glass, a portrait of 
Riparfonds, in red robes, the chin bordered with a white beard that 
looks like mould ; this apartment is still the favourite working 


place of those who feel the cold and are enamoured of the past. 
The other, the parlotte, is a dark corner which does not answer to 
the name prematurely bestowed upon it, for few persons go there, 
and none talk in it. 1 

To make up for this, the conversation in the reading room is over- 
powering. Advocates engaged in research appear at an early hour 
and settle down to work comfortably. Nothing disturbs them save 
the passing by of a learned friend, who, having come down to the 
court too soon, reads a brief through absently or goes to have a 
chat with the librarian. But readers begin to increase, running 
in hurriedly to copy a decree or find an answer in some out-of-the- 
way authority. There are long promenades from shelf to shelf in 
search of the right volume, and the librarian comes and goes, ac- 
companied by his assistant, as polite as himself. Then come the 
idlers, still in official or already in ordinary costume; they say good- 
day to one, shake hands with one another, sit down by a learned 
friend's side and begin to talk. If there be a worker in front of them, 
he fidgets, goes feverishly to look through a volume on the shelves, 
returns to take his place, and sits down to the table, with his head 
between his hands and his fingers on his ears ; at last, tired out, he 
goes to do some talking on his own account farther off. Books 
and papers are left behind in picturesque profusion, and new-comers, 
not venturing to disturb this grand collection, have great difficulty 
in finding a place. There are some terrible talkers at the library, 
and these are not always those whose voices are most heard in 
court. They speak in high tones and with the air of great authority, 
give opinions on difficulties stated by their neighbours, and tell 
professional stories of interminable length. They are especially 
dangerous just after the vacation ; and when they encounter old 
campaigners as voluble as themselves, there is no resource but 
flight. The leaders of the Bar are rarely seen in the library; Maitre 
Cresson comes sometimes to smile upon his work ; and the member 
of the Council specially charged with supervision of the library 
occasionally passes through with correct and official bearing. Only 
three or four seniors are in the habit of coming to work at the 
library with their secretaries ; on these occasions they choose the 
little tables, with seats for two, which stand in the gallery. One 
may be seen giving his instructions in monologue; another dictating 
something to a young man of talent ; another from his place directs 

1 Two other rooms are about to be opened, a smoking room and a lavatory. 


some research into the mysteries of jurisprudence ; another who 
prefers the newspaper-room distributes papers to be copied out and 
works his way through a pile of books. Less regular visitors run 
in, write some letters, consult a guide book or a directory, and 

In the winter, at three o'clock, when work is at its height and 
every one engrossed in his subject, the three attendants begin to 
put the books together. So much the worse for the student who 
has left his place for a minute ; he returns to find the volumes 
which he had carefully picked out, and opened at the right place, 
put back on their shelves ; this is a bitter pill, for at four o'clock 
the library closes. Vainly does the student turn a deaf ear to the re- 
presentations of the attendant or librarian, he must leave his copying 
unfinished. When will the library have the electric light? In 
summer, closing time is at five o'clock. But there are still some 
people who complain when they are turned out, and who have only 
been there about twenty minutes. 


For two or three days in July, decks are cleared, and work put 
a stop to at the library on account of the elections, that is, the 
elections of the bdtonnier and of the members of the Council. 
During these days little groups gather all about the place, with 
scouts going from one to another ; some youthful canvassers in 
the doorway silently, or with a cautious word and a friendly 
gesture, remind members that So-and-so is a candidate ; the 
bolder ones seize on every arrival, and follow him to the voting 
table with a vigorous and animated flow of words. 

In old days a long table used to be set out in the corridor. It 
was divided by little partitions, like those on the counter of some 
telegraph offices, into separate compartments where the elector could 
fill in his ballot paper, sheltered from prying eyes ; and much 
amusement was to bs had from the game of standing behind a 
writer so as to see over his shoulder. 

It is still amusing to note the different styles of writing, the vague 
promises, the encouraging pressure of the hand, the familiar comedy 
of the procession of voters past the ballot-box, and the formal 



counting of the votes. In a word, these elections are like other 

elections, but more secret. 

On the day for the renewal of the Council the crowd is 

particularly noisy, for there are many ambitious of election. 

There is no occasion to call for scrutineers, parties of volunteers 

undertake the work, and when it comes to casting up the votes, 

the old hands show their skill at 
the game. The leader of each 
party calls out his figure, and 
there is a competition among the 
bystanders who shall be the first 
to add the figures up. There are 
specialists in calculation who are 
never seen at the library except 
on this day. 

The election of batonnier is 
simpler. There is only one place 
to be filled, and the coun- 

ting of the votes goes on 
while the spectators are 
still passing through the 
excitement of the ballot. 
The successful candidate's 
name is rarely known at 
an early stage of the pro- 
ceedings. At first, strokes 
of luck alternate with al- 
most equal regularity for 
each candidate, or if one 
of them gets markedly 
ahead, and his partisans 
begin to reckon on vic- 
tory, the other regains the 
advantage by an unex- 
pected run of good fortune. 

The scene resembles a fine game of billiards where careful aim is 

taken before every stroke, and where the stake is the highest honour 

to which the perfect advocate aspires. 

An absolute majority being at last obtained, the victor's friends 

run to him with the good news. 



There are cases on record of friends being too hasty, and 
telling a candidate that he is successful before the votes have been 
all recorded. In these cases the anecdote gets much discussed in 
the corridors, and ensures the candidate's success at a second 
trial. Meanwhile the expectant bdtonnier is waiting with an air 
of indifference in the Salle des Pas-Perdus, or one of nervousness 
in the Council Chamber, where the result is officially reported by 
our friend Leon. Then, stirred by the news, and without having 
had time to compose himself, we may see him in the library 
before the voting table, face to face with the retiring bdtonnier. 
The latter with perfect calmness congratulates him in a speech so 
worded that, with a few trifling variations, it could just as well have 
been addressed to the other candidate had he been successful. 

Equally studied is the speech made by the incoming president 
for every candidate prepares his speech, hard though it may be to 
swallow it again in case of defeat ; but it is always a little 
disordered by the speaker's agitation. This in fact gives the 
speech its charm. Thus the happy man inevitably talks of his 
modest youth, of the first step in his career, of the folly of any one 
who should then have -prophesied such an honour for him, and of 
the efforts he will make to prove worthy of it ; and he sheds tears 
while his supporters cheer him and sceptics smile. 

In the October following the bdtonnier may again be seen in 
the same place, doing the honours of the house, and engaged in 
reading, with an independence born of success, a long discourse 
on the duties of the profession, followed by a series of obituary 
notices which custom requires to be given with some literary grace. 

The election of the bdtonnier only presents amusing features 
once in two years, for it is customary to reappoint the same 
batonnier twice running. 


The advocate is at home in every part of the Palace ; it is he 
who takes up most room, it is he who predominates everywhere by 
force of noise and numbers. From the robing rooms to the library, 
he flows into every corner. In old days the chief abode of his 


sovereignty was the buvette, a little restaurant inside the Palace. 
This had at first been situated in the Galerie Marchande ; it was 
then moved to the residence occupied by the Prefect of Police, 
while from 1879 it was set up in the corridors reserved for the 
prefect's staff, above the advocates' library, and close to the lost 
property office. This was the favourite place for conversation, the 
room being under the care of the Council of the Order. In 1863 
it was redecorated, Jules Favre being bdtonnier. At present 
jurymen engaged in criminal and compensation cases, and persons 
employed in the Prefecture of Police have an equal right with 
the barristers to use the place. This, added to its gloomy 
aspect (a paltry hall lighted from a little court where building 
operations are always going on), has caused the buvette to lose some 
of its old renown. 

The buvette still numbers some faithful friends who drop in for 
a cup of coffee at the first moment of rest, or who come there 
to wait during an adjournment of the court. There are regular 
customers, and counsel pressed for time who, to save the trouble 
of taking off their gown between two cases, come there for lunch. 
Poor Maitre Lejoindre, the most brilliant story-teller in the law 
courts, was at his best here, as was Maitre Oscar Falateuf, in the 
waiting times before the sittings of the first chamber of the court. 
His cap at the back of his head, with a genial smile, bright, good- 
tempered, and very clever, he would reel off story after story till 
his auditors forgot all about their lunch. 

Why does not the Council of the Order, in the spirit of Jules 
Favre, restore the glories of the buvette ? 

In this age of syndicates, co-operative societies and clubs, why 
does not the Bar, reserving the library for its original purpose as a 
place of study, start a club-room in proximity to it, where members 
could lunch pleasantly on moderate terms, talk at their ease, read 
the daily papers, and, if need be, prepare their arguments and 
receive their clients. This, it seems to us, would be quite_/;j de siede; 
so they should lose no time over it. 

Meanwhile, let us return to the everyday life of the Palace. 
The day's work is at its height. 

Nothing can be seen but a cloud of black gowns through 
which are passing bewildered citizens, insinuating men of business, 
and a few fair dames in search of adventures. 

In the Galerie Marchande, in front of the Bosc robing room, 


there is a crush of advocates who are having a talk before they take 
off their gowns, or are waiting to get away. A stir runs through the 
groups when a lady of alluring air, and crowned with a most 
effective hat, passes through in search of her counsel or some friend 
who has promised to show her round. 

In the aquarium, advocates in full dress are engaged in 
smoking and speaking well of their comrades. On a green bench, 
in the full glare of the light, clients of both sexes are waiting for 
their counsel to pass by, when they seize hold of him and get a 
consultation on the spot. Every five minutes " lines of English 
lady tourists, moving as if by clock-work, come out from the 
balcony of the Sainte-Chapelle, pass along the gallery and 
disappear in the direction of the Salle des Pas-Perdus." 

The Salle des Pas-Perdus makes a fine show, with its broad bay 
windows looking out on the Boulevard du Palais, its massive 
pillars, the beauty and simplicity of its proportions ; and when 
crowded with the legal world it is full of life and movement. The 
noise one hears does not resemble the confused clamour of the 
Stock Exchange, nor the humming of a hive of bees at their work ; 
followers of the law do not put on the busy manner of financiers, 
and have nothing in common with bees except the sting. No, the 
noise is so like that of low and sustained conversation, that a 
superficial and malicious observer might christen the place " Salle 
du Temps Perdu." 

The appearance of the Salle des Pas-Perdus is constantly 
varying. It is as changeable as the heavens, as woman, as the law. 

On election or other important days, crowds form round 
prominent persons, voices are raised, and the once gentle murmur 
of conversation increases in pitch till it equals the din of a public 
meeting On Monday, which is the probationer's, day, ordinary 
clients leave the place to these young gentlemen. Wednesday and 
Saturday are auction days for movables. On Thursday, the 
day for forced sales of land and houses, the spectator will see the 
lawyers in stronger force than usual, engaged with a special class 
of clients, the investors in real property. These are well-set-up 
gentlemen, walking up and down as if they were at the Stock 
Exchange, pillars of society, with good banking accounts, who come 
to ask a solicitor to bid for them ; with these come shop-keepers 
or yeomen bewildered by their new excitement, who hesitate at 
the very last moment, and in turn ask advice or make sugges- 


tions to their man of business ; there are married couples who 
thought to share the struggle of bidding, and who end by quar- 
relling ; and little groups in mourning who follow the solicitor 
as if he were a good shepherd. Occasionally a well-dressed woman 
ventures in. 

On Wednesday ladies involved in some divorce case move 
quickly through the crowd, and disappear behind a staircase 
on their way to a hall where we shall again meet them. 

On Tuesdays and Saturdays the groups, not so lively as usual, 
and made up in most part of laymen, collect in front of the door, 
underneath the clock, leading to judges' chambers ; and knots of 
men, not remarkable for cleanliness, consult a large placard at the 
side which contains the list of applications to be made in judges' 
chambers. 1 

On Friday, as there is nothing special doing, and as solicitors 
rarely come to court on that day, advocates are fewer than ever. 
The sound of talking is less continuous, and strikes the ear with a 
slighter rumbling ; and the building soon resumes its early morning 
stillness, only broken by two or three pairs of laggard talkers walk- 
ing up and down. 

The majority of the regular frequenters who give the Salle des 
Pas-Perdus its peculiar character are men of law, whether counsel 
or solicitors. They use it as a meeting place for the discussion of 
their common concerns. They talk, sometimes passing one in 
front of the other, as if they were playing a complicated game of 
four corners with words ; they talk, standing quite still, in little 
groups ; and they talk, as they do the hundred paces which measure 
the length of the hall in bands of four or five. You will note the 
different bearing of people while waiting till the man they want 
has finished his conversation. 

Some give him a touch on the shoulder, and then plant them 
selves two steps off; others, talking all the time on some in- 
different matter with some one else, watch his gestures, and keep 
pace with his every movement. 

In this crowd of figures, all wearing the same costume, it is an 
arduous task to find the man one wants. Often one does not know 
him, and the inquirer's first step is to question some acquaintances, 
who are beginning their solitary promenade, as to his whereabouts. 
As often as not he is dark with a pointed beard, or a young man- 

1 R6le des referes. 


one is not certain about his complexion with a small moustache 
which information throws little light on the object in view. In the 
case of a barrister, one can bethink one's self of his characteristics, 
the way he carries his brief bag, or what corner of the hall he prefers 

For instance he may be always found with a large, worn, and 
bulky brief-bag, with rents so broad that the books inside nearly 
slip through them ; or he may be one of those who come to the 
law courts in a fashionable coat, like amateurs, with their bag 
neatly doubled up, the list of engagements fastened to the outside ; 
another has a way of holding his bag at arm's length by a band or 
leather strap ; if you are looking for an ex-bdtonnier , who is counsel 
for the Rothschilds, you will recognise him by his broad shoulders, 
by his wonderful eye-glass, his snub nose and the mass of papers 
held nonchalantly against his hip; or possibly you will be told that 
the man you are looking for carries his briefs, with the title upper- 
most against his left breast, as a nurse does her baby. 

Out of a thousand figures you will mark that of the tall 
advocate with an eye-glass and stooping shoulders, an ex-batonnier, 
who stands with his arm thrown like a black mantle round his 
.charmed and bewildered client. 

Maitre Allou might have been always found on a corner of 
the bench which stands near the first chamber of the Court of 
Appeal, listening gravely, with his proud weary air, to any learned 
friends who came to pay their court. He has had no successor. 
Other advocates may still be seen sitting in this same corner, but 
they have no mark to distinguish them from the crowd. The 
bench in front has its regular patrons of different kind ; but they 
do not stay there long. On the other benches are advocates of 
every class, resting for a moment to look at their briefs, worn out 
with work, or sick of clients whom they do not care to show round 
the building. 

A solicitor is much harder to find than an advocate ; a solicitor 
in his gown can be distinguished at once as he wears no hood ; 
in place of the large macaroon-shaped boss with two hanging 
flaps, he only has two buttons, sometimes not even that, on 
his left shoulder. But solicitors have few individual characteris- 
tics, and very often they do not wear a gown. To be sure of 
finding them, the best thing to do is to make for the part of the 
building reserved for them, which lies at the right end of the 
Salle des Pas-Perdus, towards the Boulevard du Palais, a modest 


apartment containing a little partition, round the grating in 
which hover solicitors' clerks with documents. Instead, however, 
of entering there the seeker should mount the stairs, knock at the 
door of a bare dressing room, ask if the solicitor required is at 
the law courts, and lie in wait for him. 

Conversation is difficult in the Salle des Pas-Perdus even with 
a friend, if he happens to be an advocate with much practice. You 
think you have got him, you fix him with your eye ; then, a 
moment's inattention, and there is nobody there ! He has dis- 
appeared behind a pillar ; and you run through the hall to find 
him flown. So you, in your turn, join one of the bands of 
strollers who are discussing some legal or other point, while the 
bell for auctions or judges' chambers rings incessantly. Many look 
on it as a duty to frequent the Salle des Pas-Perdus, especially 
when they have nothing to do. Only a few of the foremost 
advocates can afford not to appear there, and solicitors advise 
junior men to come and show themselves with a heavy brief-bag, 
stuffed with the first thing that comes handy, with a melon if they 
are hard up. For many, barring the melon, it is a pleasant task. 
It is there that a man will meet the comrades and friends whom 
a long brotherhood in arms makes more welcome or dearer every 
day ; it is a place for learning in friendly talk all the news both 
within and without; and thither come legislators to put off party 
bitterness and sharpen their reason on the daring humour of their 

In that case, it will be said, it is a place for losing a great deal 
of time. Many people would think it wiser to go straight to the 
robing room the moment court is closed. To these wiseacres a few 
points may be suggested for consideration. 

Let them remember that there is no existence so wearing as 
that of an advocate in large practice, that for him the physical 
fatigue of the Bar is doubled by the work he has do in chambers, 
and that the time spent on this daily promenade between a speech 
in court and an interview with a client is a necessary relaxation 
for his mind. Let them also remember that this constant 
friction with men of his own profession, not only in court but 
outside as well, can only benefit him, and that this time lost for 
practical work has special value in developing his critical 

Let them remember, lastly, that to lose time is a necessity of 


the profession. Better lose it in the Salle des Pas-Perdus than 
waiting one's turn to address the judge in the stifling atmosphere 
of court. Is it not, moreover, the place for meeting solicitors, 
for making appointments, for settling plans of campaign, for 
showing letters ? The gentlemen of the long robe are all 
peripatetic philosophers. 

However, it must be owned that the glories of the Salle des 
Pas-Perdus are on the wane. Men of wit do not spend so much 
time there as of yore. The reason is they no longer find the same 
charrn there. The judicial family is becoming too numerous,com- 
petition too keen ; and those who have abandoned law for politics, 
without obtaining either the honour or success they hoped for, have 
imported into the legal profession an element of discord which it 
needs much philosophy, disinterestedness and mutual indulgence to 
extinguish. Despite these ominous shadows, there is no spot in 
the Palace so loved by the lawyers, or so interesting, and so 
accessible to the general public as the Salle des Pas-Perdus. 

There visitors wander at their leisure, a little bewildered, but 
amused ; they gaze at the marble statue of Berryer carved by 
Chapu, who gave him as companions two graceful figures, Fidelity 
and Eloquence ; they fall into raptures before the ponderous monu- 
ment of Malesherbes, the decoration of which is generally com- 
pleted by two or three advocates in the flesh, leaning elegantly 
against the pedestal : the English tourists read in their Baedeker 
that it is by Dumont, the bas-relief being by Cortot, and the 
statues on the side by Bosio. These statues represent, it seems, 
France and Fidelity, which has called forth the sarcastic remark 
that poor Malesherbes has no claim to Eloquence. 


There is an annexe to the Salle des Pas-Perdus which is inter- 
esting to notice. It is a little room, entered from beneath the in- 
side double staircase of the Salle, and communicating with the 
sixth chamber. In old days it was called the Parlotte. But this 
name being from recent years restricted to a part of the library, 
the old Parlotte is now only a private writing room for advocates. 
The last of its frequenters in the days of its greatness was Maitre 


Malapert, a veteran freelance who could never help being inspired 
with a real passion in his clients' affairs. It has a good fire in the 
winter which makes it look comfortable. When writing materials 
run short, please address the usher of the sixth chamber. Facing 
the door of the Parlotte is another little door, painted brown. A 
push will reveal a winding staircase set in open ironwork, through 
the bars of which can be seen an immense empty hall with grace- 
ful columns, like a crypt of the Mont-Saint-Michel forgotten 
beneath the Salle des Pas-Perdus ; it is the Salle de St. Louis, also 
called the guard hall of Philip the Fair. It is attached to the Con- 
ciergerie and is closed to the public. It can only be seen properly 
in all its splendour from this little staircase, which few know of. 
Let us go down it, but do not tell. 



DURING our wanderings round the Salle des Pas-Perdus, the 
courts have been in full swing. They are mostly furnished in a 
uniform style. In the fore-part of the hall are rows of oak 
benches with backs, one of them having also well-stuffed cushions 
for counsel, a long shelf the bar being placed in front to hold 
their papers. In the middle is a gangway leading to the pretorium, 
as it is called, a narrow open space which separates the counsel 
from the judges. In former times it was ironically called the 
Park ; it is now occupied by the usher on duty. At the end of 
the hall is the judges' bench, a long oak table with armchairs 
for three or four persons ; on the side, between the windows, is 
the dai's reserved for the honourable representative of the public 
ministry, and close to this is the registrar's desk. The walls are 
panelled in oak, and papered in dark blue with a pattern of some 
sort or other. The ceiling is white with gilt cornices. A clock 
stands in a recess carved with oak-leaves. There is a plaster bust 
of the Republic identical with that to be seen in every mayor's 
office ; and, facing the public, hangs a picture of the crucifixion, the 
usual faded figure on a bluish-grey background. 

The doors open late ; at noon, sometimes at a quarter-past 
twelve, sometimes not till half-past. How different from the days 
when the bar had to be at the chatelet at sunrise, allowing only 
for the short time needed to hear a low mass ! The first move- 
ment begins in the corridors behind the courts leading to the 
vice-presidents' private rooms. There is only one president for each 
tribunal, and he sits in the first chamber ; in each of the other 
chambers the presiding judge is a vice-president or the senior judge 
present. In the cramped waiting-rooms counsel are growing 


impatient ; they are waiting for the vice-president to ask him 
for some ticklish postponement, requiring explanations which the 
petitioner would rather give in a little casual chit-chat than in 
a formal application when the cause list is called over. This 
learned gentleman is witness at a marriage ceremony, and has 
only just time to keep his appointment ; another will be detained 
all day by " family business," a wide phrase covering all kinds of 
excuses, from the sickness of a near relative to an assignation with 
a pretty woman ; another is not ready, his case is not yet prepared, 
he has not yet received from his client the indispensable documents 
(in plain terms his fees) ; another is holding a brief for a learned 
friend who is ill or gone into the country. Here comes a youthful 
clerk whose master has merely said to him : " Go and see the 
president ; I can't be in court to-day." And he is thinking of the 
stereotyped phrase he is to use, rather nervously, mumbling the 
words to himself beforehand. Several gentlemen, who in a moment 
will be transformed into magistrates in full costume, glide towards 
the council chamber, a place which serves as robing-room and 
meeting place for the magistrates of each court. 

Suddenly there is a stir among the advocates in the waiting 
room ; the officer, surly or obsequious as the case may be, clears 
the way, and opens the door for a busy-looking man in civilian 
dress ; it is the president. Quick follows the stream of applicants. 
Advocates follow advocates, pushing against one another as they 
pass the door. The president, with his nose in his wardrobe, 
listens to the requests for postponements, which, one after another, 
are poured into his ear ; he listens to the last as he turns round 
with his waistcoat, sometimes with his shirt uncovered, and one 
arm in the air as it is being thrust into the flowing sleeve of his 
gown. Now he is ready. Nobody else can be received. Every 
one must be in court. And the stream, not a very broad one after 
all, makes for the bar and into the pretorium. This is the time for 
good stories and traditional anecdotes, for the careless talk of advo- 
cates who lead each other on. Groups of standing listeners gather 
round the seniors, who seat themselves comfortably on the cushioned 
benches, and repartees, to which long practice has given keenness, 
flash through the air. Men try their epigrams here just as fencers 
try their foils against a wall. There are a few younger talkers, bold 
juniors or sons of advocates or solicitors, who follow their fathers' 
profession ; but they stand aloof from the crowd, engaged in some 

F 2 



grave debate among themselves, or dreaming of the pleasant 
excursion they might be making to St. Cloud, with a fair friend, 
on one of the river steamboats. 

A door now opens at the back, a voice announces the entry 
of the court, and the judges, in black robes with ermine collars, 
and caps bordered with silver lace, enter and take their seats on the 
bench, which is not far removed from and not 
much raised above the bar. They are of every 
age, of every appearance, and of every char- 
acter. With few exceptions the magistrate is 
no longer, as heretofore, of a fixed type. He 
is manifold, different from what one would 
expect, always changing, like humanity itself. 
You may see, issuing from the door at the 
back, now a judge with heavy beard, cap over 
one ear, and robe unbrushed ; now one who 
resembles a spick-and-span wax doll, or a 
lackadaisical aesthete ; now an old gentleman, 
so broken down that he needs support and 
seems on the verge of a paralytic stroke, ac- 
companied by a stately individual with long 
From a sketch by P. Renouard. grey whiskers, and a nervous man who is con- 
stantly scratching himself; at another time 

appears a sleepy judge, who rolls about as he walks ; then one so 
short-sighted that he has to feel his way ; then a young man, with 
pale austere features, or a big fat fellow, the picture of good temper. 
The three or four judges have taken their seats, the deputy who 
represents the Procureur has ensconced himself in the shade 
between the two windows, and the registrar holds his pen ready 
for use. 



41 Usher of the court, call the cause list." 

The usher, to whom these words of the presiding judge are 
addressed, is not an usher in knee breeches and a silver chain ; he 
is a very respectable gentleman, perhaps a doctor of laws ; he wears 
a plain gown, like that of the solicitor whose managing clerk he 
was, until he got tired of waiting to step into his employer's 
business. Instead of a doctor of laws, an ordinary manservant 

IN COURT . 69 

with strong lungs and able to read would do the work much 
better ; for it only consists in calling out in a loud voice the names 
of the parties on the cause list, and in crying " Silence " every now 
and then. Now it is possible to be a doctor of laws and yet have 
a weak voice, and be ill-fitted to read out a list of names. As 
for the issuing of writs, the ushers could perform that duty quite 
as well without being compelled to spend their weary days 
in court. 

But let us avoid polemics. 

In high falsetto, in deep bass, or in dumb show, the usher of the 
court begins reading. 

Trichet v. Trichet ! 

Poteau v. Duparquet ! 

THE PRESIDENT. No answer ? I must warn the solicitors 
that unless they appear this day week, the case will be struck out. 

Caffin v, Lamouche ! 

A BOY'S SHRILL VOICE. To stand for hearing, if the court 

THE PRESIDENT (in a matter-of-fact tone], Stands. 

Chamoin v. Pingouin ! 

VOICE OF AN ADVOCATE (who has just come iii). To stand 
first, Mr. President. 

THE PRESIDENT (ivith a sweet smile]. First after the others. 

Durand v. Pichard ! 

A DEEP VOICE. I appear for M. Durand, but I don't see my 
opponent. I cannot go on in his absence. 

THE PRESIDENT (in Jus judicial tone}. We will hear you all 
the same ; your opponent will be heard next week. 

THE DEEP VOICE. But, Mr. President, I shall have to state 
my case all over again next week. 

THE PRESIDENT (softening}. I will see if there are other cases 
enough to occupy the sitting. Usher, go on calling the paper. 

Labat v. her husband. 

COUNSEL (with a bald head, smiling}. Mr. President, my 
learned friend writes to say that he is to be married to-day. 

THE PRESIDENT (in a rage). Then if everybody was getting 
married, it would be impossible to try a single case ; the court 
would have to rise at one o'clock. This must remain on the paper. 
It was set down for hearing three years ago. Your learned friend 
has not been on the point of getting married all that time. 


The advocate makes a frightful grimace and a gesture of 
despair ; in reality, he is delighted at the prospect of arguing 
without his learned friend. 

Boulanger v. Dupont! 

A WHINING VOICE. Mr. President, my client is very ill. I 
have been unable to see him, and was told that he was dying. 

THE PRESIDENT (calming down). Dying ! You had better 
lose no time in getting on with the case, so as to avoid the risk of 
having to revive proceedings. 

Navet v. Canard ! 

A SECRETARY'S VOICE. Mr. President, my principal is de- 
tained in another court. 

THE PRESIDENT (beside himself}. Very well, you shall argue 
it in his place. 

THE SECRETARY. Mr. President, I haven't got the brief; I 
know nothing about the case. 

THE PRESIDENT (obdurate). I say that you shall argue in his 
place. Your principal must hand over some of his business to 
you, if he has too much ! 

Barreau v. Lachaize ! 

A LOUD COARSE VOICE. The case is not ready. 

THE PRESIDENT (with his eyes starting out of his head}. So 
much the worse. 

Chicot v. Mouton ! 

Two VOICES TOGETHER. In course of being settled. 

THE PRESIDENT (wounded]. Oh ! 

Labbe v. Leglise ! 

Two OTHER VOICES (equally together}. We wait the pleasure 
of the court. 

THE PRESIDENT. Will the case take long ? 

THE Two VOICES. Oh ! the whole sitting, Mr. President. 

THE PRESIDENT (brightening up}. All the other cases will 
stand over till this day week, unless the parties interested apply 
for special days to be fixed. Then several counsel ask that their 
suits may be declared ready for hearing, which is begging a favour 
of the court. 

We have given a short specimen of what goes on at the reading 
of the cause list. It varies in every possible way, according to the 
temperament of the president and the excuses made by the counsel. 
But we have hardly exaggerated. The coincidences of ridiculous 


names are more frequent than would be believed, and the rage of 
certain presidents at seeing their business slip away from them by 
one adjourment after another rises to frenzy. There are some 
who would gladly try the lookers-on rather than leave before the 
proper hour. 

On the other hand, there are some who smile gratefully on 
counsel who ask for causes to stand over, and close the sitting at 
the first chance. Others enliven 
the reading of the cause list by 
facetious remarks, never refuse a 
request for a postponement when 
it is drolly made ; they love to 
get a laugh out of the spectators, 
and generally are the delight of 
the idlers in court. The cause 
list ended, the president reads 
the judgments on cases the 
decision of which has been re- 
served ; another function for the 
performance of which there 

ought to be a good reader attached to the court. Sometimes 
the [president has no voice, sometimes he is troubled with some 
defect of pronunciation, sometimes he cannot read the writing of 
the judge who drew up the judgment, or perhaps his own. The 
counsel concerned, who have come to hear the result, lean over the 
bar with their ears outstretched and bodies hoisted, throwing dis- 
turbed glances at each other. The president mumbles through his 
reading, or interrupts it to ask some explanation of his neighbour. 
And when it is finished, bets are opened as to the result of the 
litigation. Towards a quarter to one, or at one, pleading begins, 
unless the Procureur's representative comes forward to make a 
neat and concise statement regarding a suit taken at the previous 
sitting 1 . 

From a sketch by P. Renouard. 


The time spent in court is a time of repose, at any rate for 
judges to whom sleep comes at pleasure. But how hard it is to 
acquire the art of sleeping gracefully on the bench ! To slumber 
undisguisedly, with half open mouth, thick breathing, nodding 


head, is unworthy of a magistrate even in our levelling age. The 
point is to find proper attitudes to sleep in while assuming the 
appearance of being melancholy, or buried in thought, or wrapt in 
attention. The forehead supported by the hand is a good posture ; 
it denotes the lofty soul of a thinker. The head between the two 
hands with the eyes fixed is not bad either ; the speaker is at 
liberty to believe that he has hypnotised his subject. But to sleep 
with the eyes open demands a certain amount of practice. One 
plan which may be strongly recommended is to rest the neck 
firmly against the the chair-back and to wear spectacles ; this is 
simple, natural, and makes it impossible for any one to tell whether 
you are asleep or awake. There is one possible danger that the 
sleeper's body may slide over the edge of his chair, and the judge 
disappear under the table, which would not be regular ; but 
fortunately the leather chairs are the reverse of slippery, and 
hitherto accidents have been rare. Certain meditative attitudes 
also deserve recommendation, as, for instance, the chin resting on 
the hand ; but in this case please sit well in the centre of the chair, 
with your back supported throughout its whole length by the 
cushion. There is yet the plan of sleeping openly, with the arms 
crossed behind the head ; this excess of cynicism disconcerts the 
spectator, who cannot believe that you would sleep for so long ; in 
this case, remember to preserve your posture in case you wake ; 
this is an essential point. In short, any attitude will do, provided 
that it is steady, and that sleep does not produce an unseemly 
movement of the body. There is always at least one judge who 
listens, the president. Sometimes the three relieve one another by 
turns. And the modes of listening are as various as those of 

One president stolidly takes notes without even raising his 
eyes, as if he were doing dictation ; another watches counsel's lips 
with unfaltering attention, and makes such desperate efforts to 
follow the speaker that his face turns purple, and his veins swell to 
bursting ; another with restless eye explores every corner of the 
hall, and catches here and there in an absent manner some shred 
of an argument ; another smiles benignantly at the speaker without 
listening to a word of his speech ; another seems to follow with 
interest and makes signs of assent, though he hears nothing, but 
merely wags his head from habit. Another is impressed by the 
least word, turns sharply round to his neighbour on the right to 


give him the benefit of his remarks, flings himself back to his 
neighbour on the left, discusses the case in a loud voice while the 
arguments are still going on, scribbles down ten contradictory 
judgments on the same matter, asks the counsel for explanations, 
shakes himself, bounces about, jerks round on his chair as if it were 
a gridiron, and leaves the court without having any opinion at all. 
Another sits shrivelled up on his seat, listens immovably to the 
opening of a case, forms his opinion'quite unaided before even the 
opening is finished, and calmly writes out his judgment while the 
defendant's counsel is still pleading ; another lazily struggles 
against sleep, till some rule of law strikes him, when he starts like 
a wild animal struck by a shot, and sets to work conscientiously. 
Another writes letters or signs papers, looking all the time as 
if he were drawing up his judgment. Another keeps interrupting 
a barrister from the first word he utters, so as to put a little 
liveliness into the case, and transforms counsel's argument into a 
comic dialogue ; another interrupts to an equal degree, but 
feverishly, wanting to know everything at once, and not giving 
the unhappy counsel time to make their explanations in full. 
This judge is a tartar. From the moment he grasps the plaintiff's 
case, he is unable to rest till the defendant has said yes or no to 
the question raised. Counsel also are liable to lose their temper, 
and have peculiarities which are not always a source of amuse- 
ment to the bench. Taking everything into account, the judge is 
most defenceless. 

When the judge wants to talk to his neighbour, a susceptible 
counsel stops short, and the judge blushes, unless he follows the 
example of a certain president, who every time counsel came to 
an abrupt pause in order to reduce him to silence, used to 
mutter " The case is finished." He then trotted out of court with 
his colleagues, or delivered an oral judgment on the spot. When 
a judge interrupts too often, the advocate heaps up fine phrases 
about the liberty of defence, or leaves the bar with a majestic air, 
to the great annoyance of the judge, who has no wish to make 
enemies. Judges who are light sleepers meet with some terrible 
counsel who roar like men stone deaf, stamp on the floor, and 
thump the table till the windows rattle. In ancient Greece, 
advocates who stamped were punished with a fine. Quite right 
too ! In those days they knew how to protect judges ! To listen to 
harsh voices arguing for four or five hours at a stretch ; to watch 


ugly faces grimacing, hands shaking and bodies undergoing every 
kind of contortion such a mode of spending time is not always 


Judges must regret the time when the speeches of counsel 
were confined within certain limits of duration, and when the 
advocate before the old Parliament was a worthy representative 
of the type sketched by Dubreuil : 

I. An advocate should be of stately deportment and well- 
proportioned figure, so as to make a good impression on the eyes of 
judges and spectators. 

II. His countenance should be open, frank, courteous, and well- 
bred, and should afford at the outset a testimonial in his favour. 

III. In his bearing he should shoiv no trace of presumptuous 
assurance ; on the contrary, he should win the favoiir and interest of 
those whom he addresses by an air of modesty and reserve. 

IV. There should be nothing fierce or reckless in the expression 
of his eyes. 

V. His attitude before the bench should be seemly and respectful ; 
and his dress should exhibit neither foppery nor negligence. 

VI. In speaking he should refrain from distorting his features 
by any twisting of the mouth or lips. 

VII. He should avoid bursting out in a loud strident voice. 

VIII. He should know hoiv to regulate his intonations so as to 
keep them at an equal distance from the gruff and the shrill; his 
voice should be full, clear, and preserve the character of a perfectly 
medium quality. 

IX. In declamation he should be careful to retain an exact 

X. He must see that he neither raises nor lowers his tone too mucli. 
XL He must be careful to keep his style in harmony with the 

subject he is treating of, and he must avoid the absurdity of putting 
rhetorical emphasis on insignificant matters. 

XII. He must be on his guard against moving his head or his 
feet too much. 

XIII. Lastly, his action should be harmonious and appropriate to 
his discourse, nor should it be spoilt by exaggerated or feeble 



If those who speak in court had to unite all these qualities, 
there would not be many advocates in Paris or anywhere else. 
A charming woman who visited the Law Courts said that she 
had never seen so many deformed bodies or bandy legs before ; 
and she declared that the Salle des Pas-Perdus, to judge from 
the robe-clad figures to be seen there, reminded her of the Cour des 
Miracles. A few years ago there was actually a barrister who was 
such a dwarf that a presiding judge seeing him address the court 
called to him in perfect good faith : " Rise, sir ; it is not usual to 
speak seated." Some barristers argue with their hands in their 
pockets ; others walk up and down in the empty space before the 
bar ; others in the course of their speech, moving up little by little, 
lean over the judge's table and drop into conversation ; others 
make pathetic appeals to the ceiling till the loose sleeves of their 
gown fall back from their upturned arms ; some shed tears and 
beat their breast till it sounds again. Others 
scatter their papers in all directions, and send 
the ushers running on all fours after the flying 
leaves. Some bellow till they 
are black in the face. Others 
hum and haw painfully, and, in 
an anxious voice, spin out inter- 
minably observations that ought 
not to occupy more than five 
minutes. Some have a way of 
repeating fifty times, . " This is 
my last word." Others identify 
themselves with their clients, 
crying out : " No, gentlemen, we 
have not deceived our husband ; 
we are an honest woman." Some 

stammer ; others lisp ; others scream. Some have always one brief 
formula on their lips : " My opponent's reasoning is absurd." Some 
are as rapid as postboys in their speech ; others are short-winded. 
Some stop to spit, perhaps decorously in their pocket-handker- 
chiefs, perhaps with noise and to a distance, it may be on the floor 
or on their shoes, after a sniffling and drawing up their collars. 
None of these would have found favour with Dubreuil. 

Another thing also which would not have pleased him, and 
which is of frequent occurrence, is the scene which takes place as 
to the production of documents. 

From a sketch by P. Renouard. 


An advocate is bound to show to his opponent all documents 
he intends to make use of. There is hardly a case in which one 
of the counsel engaged does not vociferate like a peacock because 
some document is read by the other side which has not been 
communicated to him ; he appeals to the court, and enlarges on 
the duties of the profession. The judges listen sardonically, for 
the same scene is certain to be acted over again in five minutes 
on the opposite side, as soon as the objector's turn comes to 
speak. And the two advocates say many bitter and personal 
things to each other, though as a matter of fact they are the 
best friends in the world, and on leaving court will call one 
another by their Christian names ; but as a general rule there is 
only one of them who laughs. 

As the counsel follow one after another, from one o'clock to 
four with a half-hour's interval for rest loungers look into the 
court for a time and pass out again. Solicitors' clerks come and 
hand in papers to the registrar, who grunts in acknowledgment ; 
barristers look at the placets that lie on the bar close to the 
registrar before mentioned, whom it is dangerous to trouble ; 
others exert themselves to carry on a brief parley with the 
government official at the other end while they are putting the 
papers in order again on the bar. They have to apply to him for 
briefs to attend l and to glean from the placets whether the case 
in which they are engaged is likely to come on soon. The placets 
are rectangular strips of paper, setting forth the matters at issue 
between the parties, and to these the advocates sign their names. 
There are several bundles of placets, one relating to cases which 
follow the ordinary course, another to motions, another to demur- 
rers, another to cases specially set down for immediate hearing. 
One should bs suspicious of the latter : if a counsel in one 
of these cases is not present in court, the president reprimands 
the solicitors, and threatens to decide the case on the pleadings. 
For some years past an order for immediate hearing has meant 
little ; orders of this kind being so numerous. In certain chambers 
of the civil court of first instance, the titles of cases which have 
reached this stage are posted up on a green notice board outside 
the door. There is a special cause list for each day in the week, 
and cases not disposed of are adjourned from week to week. 

But it should be added that with all this abundance of precau- 
tions, it is impossible to say when a case will really come on ; and 

1 Les dossiers d' assistance. 


it usually happens that advocates have to take the cases to which 
they attach the most importance on the days when they least 
expect them. 

A case is fixed for a particular day. But it is preceded by 
another which was begun the week before, and which is bound to 
last another hour. One must be patient. When a barrister talks 
of an hour that means two or three. Towards half-past two, when 
the sitting is suspended, the part-heard case is not yet finished, and 
the interval often exceeds the regulation half-hour. 

This over-long pause in the middle of a too short sitting is un- 
necessary and annoying. It is true that the judges spend it in 
deliberation, and not, as malicious persons declare, in playing cards 
or sipping coffee. But they could easily deliberate after court was 
over ; this would be so much gained for the cause of justice and 
the convenience of the bar. Counsel spends the time till half-past 
three in impatiently walking up and down the half-empty court ; 
the judges then return, and the president tells him that his case 
will not be taken till that day week. The whole day is lost ! 


The scene described above as taking place in one court is being 
acted in all. The character of the causes and the aspect of the 
audience alone differ. There are cases which are assigned in- 
discriminately to all courts ; and in the same way there is a well- 
known public which appears everywhere, and which goes from 
court to court, according as it finds the doors open or shut. This 
consists of people who come to hear anything that happens to be 
going on and want to look in everywhere ; and of the ragged 
crew who go to the trials to sleep, in winter because they find it 
warmer there than outside, and in summer because they find it 
cooler. But there are certain courts in which chance visitors like 
to linger and settle down more than in others, owing to the 
nature of the cases which are tried or the reputation of the 
barristers to be heard there. The roving idlers also have their 
preferences, which are determined not only by the convenience of 
the place, but also by the nature of the proceedings. 

We will begin with the First Chamber. 



This is the largest and handsomest of all. The arrangements 
are like those of the typical law court described above, but its 
decoration is exceptionally rich. The windows are lofty, set in 
rectangular stone frames, and surmounted, inside, by carved 
mouldings picked out with gold ; they open out on a square 
court-yard, that of the Conciergerie, and are flanked by other 
lofty windows, where people, waiting for cases referred to the 
judge in chambers, may be seen moving to and fro ; while, down 
below, there is a view of iron gratings, vaulted arches, and a 
gaoler's lodge embowered in creepers. The ceiling is gilt and the 
panelling of the walls blue, with designs in gold ; round the 
Chamber runs a frieze in the same colouring, with allegorical 
figures in high relief. There are medallions of children above 
the doors. The part railed off from the public is spacious, the 
dai's and its adjuncts sumptuously appointed in keeping with the 
chamber, with side benches for the judges' friends. Loungers have a 
special fondness for the place, partly because it is the First Chamber, 
partly because of its architectural pretensions ; and they stroll up 
and down at their pleasure, or rest with their elbows on the iron 
backs fixed in the last row of benches. Elderly idlers prefer this 
Chamber as a sleeping place to any other, partly because the seats 
are more comfortable, partly because it is more airy, partly because 
the very majesty of the place tends to make people walk lightly 
and speak in subdued tones. Certain old stagers use it as a 
regular reading room. They may be seen to the number of five 
or six, very respectable in appearance, with rather seedy clothes 
and ill-brushed hair ; they come early with a book wrapped round 
with a newspaper, and sleep stolidly, their nose between the pages. 
What suits them best is some administrative difficulty, the great 
question of cognisance, 1 which, attracting no hearers, and exciting 
no interest, even in the counsel engaged, is discussed in subdued 
tones and at prodigious length. They are fond also of cases of 
a rather heavy kind, for which it is usual to bring out of their 
retirement certain senior members of the profession who are rarely 
to be heard ; other interests having withdrawn them from the bar. 

1 Comfetence. 


With happy air, their eyes shut and their ears fast closed, these 
visitors attend to witness the last flickerings of expiring genius. 
They have a weakness for cases which go by default ; and they 
like to listen to suits in forma pauperis, and the scarcely audible 
remarks of some young probationer. They love judges who never 
interrupt, and government counsel who dislike speech-making. 

The diversion provided by typical Parisian cases rarely gives 
them satisfaction ; many of them curse the practice of bringing to 
the First Chamber of the tribunal, and before their turn, cases 
which concern well-known writers, members of the dramatic 
profession, or people whose doings are chronicled in the press, 
A case of this sort attracts a crowd of ladies, usually good-looking,, 
but who fidget and chatter, take up all the room, spread their 
skirts over the knees of the regular comers, or contemptuously 
push them aside with sharp little thrusts, so that a quiet nap 
becomes impossible. There comes a posse of noisy probationers, 
the other courts send their own regular contingents, and passers-by 
flock in ; our friends no longer feel at home. It is true that 
occasions like these are field days for popular counsel, regular 
professors of eloquence, who speak in harmonious phrases ; men 
who sparkle with jest, tell broad stories, or utter blunt home 
truths ; but the regular frequenter of the First Chamber only likes 
eloquence, irony, or invective in small doses ; these things prevent 
him from going to sleep over his book. 

When a great financial case comes on they are quite swamped 
by the inrush of persons interested. In ordinary actions the client 
is rarely present in court to hear his counsel speak, to encourage 
him with approving gestures, or to suggest, by quick signs, some 
crushing reply, during the opponent's address. Suppose, however,, 
that an action has been brought against the directors of a company 
(cases of this kind, when the company is not commercial, come 
before the civil court) ; then the shareholders pour into court in 
crowds, they get possession of all the good places, they relate their 
woes to uninterested neighbours, and they show indignation or fall 
a-laughing when counsel for one of the wretched promoters asks 
pity for his client, a poor victim, who has only acted out of love for 
his country and the public good. On those days it is impossible to- 
enjoy a quiet sleep ! 

How many eminent advocates have conducted famous cases in 
this First Chamber! The faithful sleeper has no recollection of 



them. Sometimes, when he has some difficulty in getting to sleep, 
or when a counsel speaks with special force, he asks some member 
of the bar, "Who is that speaking there ?" And in a week's time 
he has forgotten all about him. 

It is among the counsel that one meets the old gentleman with 
an inexhaustible store of anecdotes, who has seen everything, heard 
everything, and never misses being present at a great case one 
wonders when his own cases come off. He knew Berryer, Marie, 
Paillet, the great Liouville, Chaix d'Est-Ange, Dufaure ; he knew 
Grevy when batontiier, and he saw our present political leaders 
make their debut at the Palace; he has by heart the whole collection 
of Leon Duval's witticisms ; he repeats good sayings of Nicolet ; 
his picture gallery of the .illustrious dead includes the stately form 
of Allou and the delicate and subtle features of Durier ; he recalls 
the powerful argument of Lente on the will of Ben-Ai'ad ; and 
he draws portraits of all the celebrated litigants who have 
appeared in the First Chamber. He waxes most amusing over 
that of Sardou, who stuck close to his advocate, Maitre Clery, 
throughout the Fiammina case; he grows tender over the Duchessc 
de Chaulnes, who looked so bewitching, during the midday interval, 
when standing up, with her back turned to the bar, looking down 
on the barristers seated on their benches, she chatted with her 
counsel, and gazed absently on the crowd. Lastly, \\henever a case 
of any importance comes before the First Chamber, not only the 
whole band of students but the whole clan of dilettante advocates 
become wild with excitement ; they crowd the space reserved for 
the bar, and climb up on to the judge's da'fs. The latter are mostly 
juniors of from thirty to forty, whom solicitors never trouble, but 
who from pure love of their profession delude themselves into the 
notion of doing business by watching others do it. Those of them 
who do not drop out of the chase after briefs will in ten years time 
be able to play the part of an old stager of the profession. 


In the Second Chamber there are no gala-days. Neither clients, 
nor loungers, nor fashionable beauties, nor old stagers, nor make- 
believes ever appear there ; it has never been able to muster a body 
of regular frequenters ; and even the poorest avoid it. It has a 


gloomy look. Yet there is nothing remarkable in its furniture. 
The picture of the crucifixion it contains is no worse than that in 
other Chambers. There is the 
usual government functionary hid- 
den between the windows ; and 
these windows open out, like those 
of the First Chamber, on to the 
quadrangle of the Conciergerie. 
Nor are its judges specially 
chosen because of their ugliness. 
Whence comes the sadness which 
prevails ? a dulness so profound, 
that a lounger who chances to 
look into this solitude is frightened 
by the sound of his own footsteps, 
and lets the door fall to again 
with a bang. Whence, we repeat, 
comes this air of sadness ? 

It is because, in this Chamber, 
are settled cases connected with the stamp duties, suits for 
separate maintenance, and actions relating to the public taxes. 



The Third Chamber decides all cases connected with patents, 
infringements of trade-marks, and literary disputes which are not 
important enough for the First Chamber. 

It has an audience of many types. Often the clients are 
present along with their family, their friends, and the representa- 
tives of the industry interested in the annulling of the patent or 
the throwing open to the public of the trade-mark claimed. 

The speeches, instead of turning on sentimental commonplaces 
or articles of the civil code, deal with technical matters, with 
machines and processes ; and their novelty has an occasional 
attraction for chance hearers who having looked in for a minute, 
end by staying there. They do not venture to sit down, but crowd 
together under the bust of the Republic. 

The general public is amused by the necessary display of little 
models of machines, sometimes full-sized machines heavy 

G 2 


machines for making- cigarettes, enormous bellows for forges, 
looms, telephonic installations are sometimes exhibited, and by 
the rows of trade samples, blacking-bottles, pots of preserves, 
bottles of different liqueurs, &c., which line the table of the court, 
and form a kind of frame for the judges' faces. 

Sometimes the bench is blocked in with a collection of statues, 
by which the judges' heads are almost concealed. On some days 
are to be seen toys, mechanical fish with movable tails, jumping 
frogs, gymnastic figures that do tricks on the trapeze ; and while 
the president smiles on the counsel engaged, the other judges wind 
up the springs, the animals dance, and the puppets go through their 
performances. Sometimes the speeches are accompanied by tunes 
from musical boxes ; there are occasions even when people give an 
air on the trombone. Or the judicial table is transformed into a 
dressmakers show-room; the furniture being covered with false 
busts, corsets, and crinolines. Or even there may be a lavish 
display of fans and perfumes, which gives the court the air of a 
lady's boudoir. 

The counsel also help to charm and retain the spectators. 
Here practise the two great authorities on fraudulent imitation, 
both of them specialists in matters connected with manufacture 
and commerce. 

The first, majestic and statuesque, speaks with all the weight of 
his powerful form. At one time pouring the whitewashing flood 
of his eloquence on the heads of wrongdoers, whom his words 
comfort and reassure ; at another time annihilating poor 
wretches with his contempt, and drowning their arguments 
under a stream of words that flows on like the waves of the 
North Sea. 

The other is quick, nervous, and seductive. He begins on 
the sly by carefully explaining some most complicated piece of 
mechanism with a subdued grace of style. This done, he gives 
way to his natural fervour, and with vigorous gesticulation makes 
the persons and objects before the court glow with life. He dis- 
cusses the evidence with a freedom, which, however, never oversteps 
the plan he has marked out for himself, and with a wealth of fancy 
which veils the hardness of the outline. As he disentangles the 
point at issue he grows excited, strikes at the other side, un- 
nerves his opponent, and marches straight to the conquest of the 
judge. Finally, with the nimbleness of a Parisian street boy, his 


glasses fixed on the tip of his nose, his hair floating behind him, a 
satirical but kindly expression on his shaven upper lip, and an 
aggressive short gray beard showing from beneath his chin, he 
sounds the assault in strident tones, and sums up in a triumphant 
flourish, with a dazzling rush of speech rich in many a picturesque 
expression and luminous flash of thought. 

When one of these two is speaking the other is not less amus- 
ing to watch. The calmer of the pair grows frantic beneath the 
storm of words that descends upon him. At each period he leaps 
up in a new fit of indignation, utters cries of protest, or raises his 
eyes and shoulders towards the white and gold ceiling and draws a 
long breath. The more nervous calms down during his opponent's 
address, restrains himself from making abrupt movements, adjusts 
his glasses, makes notes in minute handwriting on slips of paper, 
and smiles with close-set lips. 

Besides these two regular opponents, there are several other 
specialists who deserve mention. One, unpretending, spruce, and 
bald-headed, is interesting because of the simplicity of his style 
and the clearness of his explanations. Another, a taller man, with 
high shoulders, a smiling but rather bitter mouth, an elegant though 
formal way of speaking, looks like a Roman of the decadence or a 
diplomatist from the Vatican. A visitor will hear many others, 
but not exactly specialists, and for that very reason envied by the 
specialists proper ; because the latter are invariably looked upon as 
skilled only in one department, though their greatest pleasure is to 
emerge from it and show that they have enough general talent for 
any branch of practice. 


The specialist's of the Fourth Chamber are the counsel of the 
omnibus companies, the cab proprietors, and the accident insur- 
ance companies. Many divorce cases are also tried there, but the 
advocate employed in such cases is not a specialist properly so 
called. Parties suing for a divorce find their counsel among 
retired magistrates and past batonniers. Respondents choose 
theirs from the ranks of the criminal bar and professed humourists. 

If a cabman has run over some luckless foot passenger you have 
a chance of hearing a barrister, still young youth lasts long at 


the law courts just beginning to grow stout, always stroking a 
pair of soft gray whiskers, possessed of charming manners, and 
cheeks on which beads of moisture readily appear, or an old 
orentleman, with whiskers also, though they are white; and with 


smooth yellow hair that sets off a florid complexion ; who, with 
eyes looking very fierce behind their glasses, will express himself 
in severe terms respecting people who are mean enough to get 
themselves run over by cabs. 


If the defendant is an omnibus driver, his counsel is pretty 
certain to be a charming man with a brown moustache, who will 
talk nicely for ten minutes in perfect good temper, rolling his r's 
with a strong Touraine accent. On certain occasions, however, 
you will hear a professed humourist, largely employed in divorce 
cases and a performer much in vogue ; he is now rather sobered 
down, but is still recognisable by his bushy eyebrows, his clear 
metallic voice, and his fascinating blue eyes. If the accident has 
taken place in a house in process of construction, it will be the turn 
of a learned gentleman whose speciality has won him the name of 
" the building machine," and while he is speaking you will see his 
eyes swell with tears and hear the stifled sobs in his throat. For 
other accidents the counsel most in request is a stout, jovial-look- 
ing fellow, whose gown looks a tight fit, always busy and always 
running about ; he has countless briefs to read, and speaks in a 
loud voice. 

The Fourth Chamber has a crowd of regular frequenters, even 
worse dressed than those of the first ; they are, however, far 
more attentive. They seem to have chosen the place not for 
its convenience for the space is confined, the only place to sleep 
on is a wooden bench fixed to the wall, and a very unpleasant smell 
arises from the wretched creatures who occupy it but for the kind 
of cases to be heard there, for its reputation as the divorce 

Spicy cases are, however, becoming rarer and rarer ; the most 
sensational divorces are decided upon statements previously laid 
before the president, and the public only hear a few short and 
veiled allusions ; but the reputation of the court has survived, and 
people flock to it in crowds. Visitors who are taken over the law 
courts by a relation or friend always begin by asking for the 
divorce court ; and they are quite disappointed, on their arrival, to 
hear a trial about a labourer who has had his hand caught in some 
machinery, or a gentleman who has been thrown from his horse, 
nothing, in fact, in the slightest way suggestive. The only charm 
of the court lies in the gray-blue landscape, gray or blue predomi- 
nating at different times, which can be seen from its windows, 
stretching from the Quai aux Fleurs to the roof of the Hotel de 
Ville with its sculptured figures of men-at-arms. 

The three last Chambers that we have inspected are on the 
same bridge-shaped landing which is reached by a double staircase 


leading from the Salle des Pas-Perdus. The stair-head is full of 
life. It has two benches for those who have to wait. One of them, 
which is close to the Fourth Chamber, is often honoured by some 
fair party to a divorce suit, sitting close by her counsel's side ; the 
other is usually occupied by garrulous advocates waiting their turn 
in the Second Chamber. Others lean their elbows on the parapets 
of the bridge leading to the Third Chamber, their briefs fully dis- 
played ; behind them clerks pass hurriedly, and down below they 
can see, in the hall leading to the Sixth Chamber and the presi- 
dent's private room, other members of the bar pacing to and fro ; 
while on Wednesday this hall is thronged with male and female 
applicants for divorce, wrathful husbands still burning to chastise 
their wives, and fainting women whom Dr. Floquet delicately 
unlaces, and whose charms are disclosed to eyes looking down- 
from above. 

From the landing one can go down the stairs leading to the 
Salle des Pas-Perdus ; on wet days clouds of mist float about ; in the 
summer the air is thick with dust ; and, ever and again, the little 
black groups collect on the white pavement, break up into parallel 
lines, which march up and down in military fashion, till they re-form 
and dissolve again in a confused murmur beneath the interlacing 
rays of light that fall from the diamond-paned windows. 


By taking the staircase on the left, the visitor will arrive in the 
.Salle des Pas-Perdus at the threshold of the Fifth Chamber, which is 
placed exactly beneath the Fourth. The counsel here are of every 
type, the public is miscellaneous ; there is no distinctive mark. 
Stay a moment : nowhere is the picture of the crucifixion so 
atrociously bad. 

Under the arch at the back of the hall is concealed the entrance 
to the Sixth Chamber. This again is a court with nothing to dis- 
tinguish it, where cases that present no special feature are disposed 
of indiscriminately. It has a fine view over the Seine and the 
outlet of a sewer ; beyond and above lies the Place du Chatelet, 
pleasant in the summer time from its verdure, out of which rises 
a gilded statue of Victory. In winter, the view is calculated to 
draw unfortunate suitors to the river. 


8 9 

Lastly, the Seventh Chamber lies in an angle of the Salle des 
Pas-Perdus, by the side of the first. This is the domain of the 
junior bar, their field of exercise, a narrow little place, badly lighted, 
where trumpery cases are dispatched in the most summary manner. 
It looks like the court of a justice of peace ; there are three judges 
and no public. No one goes there save the counsel engaged, 
who quickly run through their little statement, listen absently to 
their opponent, mark their brief and depart. When the president 
is a man of business and not over technical, the proceedings 
resemble a familiar conversation rather than a regular argument. 
But there are certain counsel of such ardour and conscientiousness 
that neither years nor presidents have any effect on them. 

Court of the Sainte-Chapelle. 




AN important case is about to be heard. You have obtained 
admission to the court, have settled yourself in a front place, and 
are waiting to be thrilled by the eloquence of some leading counsel. 
Have you, at this moment, ever felt any curiosity as to the pre- 
liminary trial undergone by the mass of legal documents that swell 
his brief ? I fear not. 

De minimis non curat praetor, 

And, like the praetor of old, you do not trouble your head about 
such trifles. 

All the same, these trifles have their interest. For there is not 
a single bit of stamped paper in the brief which has not given rise 
to journeys without number in what may be called the ante- 
chambers of the Palace of Justice. 

In order to learn something about these preliminary stages, let 
us follow this sharp-looking little fellow of fourteen or fifteen who, 
with a bag on his arm, has just arrived at the courts at about 
eleven o'clock, in company with a crowd of little fellows as brisk 
as himself. 

This is the junior clerk, nicknamed, from time immemorial, the 
saute-riiisseau. He lunched in the office, before the other clerks, in 
a rough-and-ready fashion, off stewed mutton and potatoes, with a 
pennyworth of cheese, bought at the cook-shop over the way, 
bread and wine being kindly furnished gratis by his employer. He 
then sets out for the courts, with a song on his lips and gaiety in 
his heart. 

All junior clerks, however, are not young. Some of them, who 
have done nothing but run up and down the courts for twenty-five 


years, may be seen with hair and whiskers turning white. For 
these the " holy places " of the Temple of Themis have no 
mystery ; they know its most secret windings, its most hidden 
corners. If pressed, they could tell you from what part of the 
building comes any grain of dust which chances to fall upon their 
hats. Sometimes, in fact, a glorious veteran, his breast glittering 
with stars, maybe seen fulfilling this duty in spite of an amputated 
arm. Sometimes the real junior clerk is replaced by an amateur, 
dressed up to the eyes ; and thus, in that part of the law courts 
where junior clerks reign supreme, one may notice many different 
types in the jostling crowd. 

But let us follow our junior clerk. Here he is in the Salle des 
Pas-Perdus. His first step is to go and deposit in the hands of 
the clerk at the office of the First Chamber a petition for 
leave to issue a writ at once, 1 asking the judge to relieve the 
plaintiff from the obligation of going before a justice of peace 
for an attempt at conciliation, and to give him leave to summon 
the defendant to appear at the end of three days' notice. At four 
o'clock, this petition, answered or not by the judge as the case may 
be, will be returned to him along with the papers on the case from 
his office, through the Chamber of Solicitors practising before the 

He then ascends the little double staircase leading from the 
Salle des Pas-Perdus to the Second and Fourth Chambers, crosses 
the landing, turns to the left, mounts another flight of steps and 
deposits all his papers, writ of summons, pleadings, notice of trial,* 
service of judgment on the solicitor, &c., at the ushers' office, 4 on 
the first floor. These documents will be returned to him in two 
days' time, duly registered and served, at office No. 17, which is 
situated on the second floor. To this the junior clerk is now 
making his way. 

At office No. i he takes away the ticket assigning an action 
and copies of judgments. 5 On reaching office No. 2 he perceives 
two women dressed in mourning, seated in a corner. They arc 
waiting for him to sign, perhaps a formal acceptance, perhaps a 
formal renunciation of some deceased's succession, or of the 
community of goods between husband and wife. At office No. 3 

1 Requite a bref delai. - Chambre des avoues. 

3 Avenir a f audience. * Bureau des huissiers. 

5 II retire le bulletin de distribution ct les expeditions dejugements. 

" Soil une acceptation, soit une renondation a succession ou a communaute. 


he lodges a writ of execution ; at No. 4 he looks in to ascertain 
whether a will has been deposited. Going on, he receives from the 
official at No. 5, sheltered, like all his colleagues, behind a grating, 
a certificate that no opposition has been entered. 1 

He passes by Nos. 8 and 9, which deal with the formal inquiries 
held before the civil chambers, and by No. pA, where papers re- 
lating to civil rights are examined. Then he enters No. 10, where 
the archives are kept, and sits down for a minute. There are 
arranged, chamber by chamber, the judgments delivered in the 
seven civil chambers during the last ten years. Those of the years 
before this date are kept in the reserve, in an immense hall annexed 
to the Record Office, and extending right above the Salle des Pas- 

After having inspected the judgment he requires our clerk lodges 
at office No. 1 1 the minutes from which the judgment will be 
drawn up. 2 Proofs of debt, in the distribution of the proceeds of 
real and personal estate sold under execution, 3 are lodged at office 
No. 13 ; lastly, at No. 16 are deposited the records of all the cases 
tried in the law courts, so that they may be put on the general 
list and be distributed among the different chambers of the courts. 

Such then are the principal rounds which every junior office 
clerk has to make every day ; such the process which all legal 
documents must go through before they are finally inserted in 
the brief. 


Half-past twelve has just struck from the clock placed in the 
Salle des Pas-Perdus, above the old first chamber of the civil 
court, which is nowadays a room where applications not made in 
open court are heard. 

The junior clerk has come down stairs to wait for the opening 
of certain departments. He meets a fellow-clerk from his own 
office, better skilled than himself in the mysteries of legal 
procedure, a student or a future solicitor, who has already 
acquired the look of an official of the Public Ministry. This 

1 Certificat de non-opposition. 

2 La minute des qualites sur lesquelles sifera F expedition dujugement rendn. 

3 Productions a ordre, et productions a contribution 



clerk, a managing clerk or second clerk, has two applications 
in chambers to support, one on a report, the other on an originating 
summons. 1 

Suddenly the door of the room where the cases are heard is 
thrown open. A crowd of petty tradesmen, wine-sellers, grocers, 
fruiterers, dressmakers, &c., push their way in at the same time as 
the general agents and the clerks sent to support applications. In 
the corners are little groups busy talking ; some look resigned,, 
others gesticulate furiously. A few more patient people stand at 
the window, and gaze stolidly at the 
gray paved court and postern gate of 
the Conciergerie. Poor tenants, whose 
ejectment is demanded, consult a shady- 
looking general agent about the serious- 
ness of their case, timidly slipping three 
francs into his hand. 

The judge appears, accompanied by 
his registrar ; quiet is restored, and the 
applicants begin to file past him one by 

First sitting. Applications on reports, 
claims for the ejectment of backward 
tenants, requests for time on the part 
of the latter, applications to discontinue 
actions 2 for removal of seals, 3 &c., cross 

and recross one another. In three-quarters of an hour, with a 
whispering that recalls a sick-room for here no one speaks up, 
the parties or their representatives state their case in an undertone 
more than forty applications are disposed of. 

A rather long interval follows. Some fresh interested parties 
come on the scene ; the lawyers have gone off on other business. 
The managing clerk, to whom we were conducted by our first little 
friend, has lost his first application. The judge has given time to 
the tenant whose immediate expulsion he demanded. Being con- 
scientious as times go, the clerk sits down on an unoccupied bench 
in the Salle des Pas-Perdus, and works away at his second batch of 

1 Un refere sur proces-verbal, et tin reffri sur placet. 
- Discontinuation de poursuites. 
3 Le'cei de see lies. 

From a sketch by P. Renouard. 

94 THE PARIS LAW COURTS & ' '*',/ ' 


T\vo o'clock strikes, and the doors are again thrown open. '-A- 
fresh judge appears ; sometimes it is the president of the court, 
attended of course by the registrar. 

The second sitting now begins. Applications on originating 
summonses for official inspections, for replevin, 1 for reduction of 
the amount of distress, 2 for appointment of receivers, 3 &c. 

Many solicitors in their gowns are in attendance to support the 
interest of their clients. 

And now it is our clerk's turn ; he argues, explains, replies, and, 
if it is his first appearance, awaits, with beating heart, the decision 
of the judge. Let us say that he wins. One lost, one gained. 
This sounds well in a story, and will satisfy the equitable instincts 
of our reader. 

Nearly all our modern orators have commenced their career by 
mumbling applications in chambers. Presidents have sometimes 
been so much struck by the intelligent air of the clerk> who in his 
nervousness was passing by the decisive argument, that they have 
encouraged him and gradually brought him back to the right path. 
An ex-batonnier perhaps remembers that during his early years of 
clerkship, he had to make an application in chambers before 
President de Belleyme. Though he had a good case, his whole 
face showed terror at the thought of losing it, and he went on a 
completely wrong track in his statement. 

"Ah!" said M. de Belleyme, "you want to win your applica- 
tion ? Why then do you not lay stress upon the arguments in your 
favour ? " 

" Because, Mr. President " 

" Come now, another time, when you have an application 
like this to make, I will tell you what you should say." 

And to the astonishment of the future advocate, M. de 
Belleyme set forth in order all the arguments bearing on the 
case then before him. 

" There now, I tell you again, that is what you will say another 
time, and then the president, in his turn, will tell the registrar as I 
tell him to day : ' Registrar, order as asked.' " 

Maitre went away very well satisfied. Thanks to the judge's 

arguments, he had gained his application. 

1 Mainlevee de saisie-arrft. 2 Reduction dii montant de la saisie. 

3 Nomination de seqitestrcs. 





It is 2 P.M. on Wednesday. The glass-roofed hall the 
atrium our architect calls it which connects the Salle des Pas- 
Perdus with the Sixth Chamber of the Civil Court and the rooms 
annexed to the First begin to fill with women. Some wear hats, 
some bonnets, others are bare-headed ; some are smiling, others 
sit down without saying a word. Some of them shed tears, but 
these are very few. Then come the men, some grave, others 
cheerful. The men and women are husbands and wives engaged 
in suits for divorce or judicial separa- 
tion, who must first appear before the 
president for an attempt at reconcilia- 
tion. From time to time, in the middle 
of this crowd of common people, there 
appears, followed by her solicitor, an 
elegant young lady, dressed in black 
silk with dark suede gloves. In deference 
to the occasion she wears no jewellery, 
excepting a pair of costly ear-rings. 
These she cannot leave off even for a 
minute, because they light up her whole 
face. While waiting her turn, this very 
modest suitor will seat herself without 
shame on the corner of a bench close 
to a bare-headed woman, perhaps her 
dependant ; and the latter watches her 

neighbour curiously, thinking, no doubt, that fortune, in this 
respect, like the guard which in old days used to keep watch 
at the gates of the Louvre, does not protect the rich any more 
than the poor from conjugal troubles. 

Each couple then passes into the private room of the judge 
who is charged with the duty of trying to effect a reconciliation. 
And there, performing the office of a physician of souls, the 
magistrate occasionally succeeds in effecting a reconciliation. But 
more often than not he fails. 

After a while the hall grows empty; several months, sometimes 
several years after this preliminary attendance, the couple or their 

From a sketch by P. Renouard. 


solicitors reappear with the witnesses, to stifle in the low-roofed 
ante-chambers of the examining judges ; every one, when he has 
the chance, going to breathe at one of the square windows which 
enable those in the hall of the divorce court to see the figures 
of people walking in the square below. As a general rule, the 
witnesses and the solicitors come without their clients for this 
little ceremony, which takes place, according to the law, in the 
judge's plainly furnished private room. Assisted by the inevitable 
registrar, and seated before a small mahogany desk, the examining 
judge takes down the depositions of the witnesses brought forward 
by each party to justify his or her statement of facts. The wit- 
nesses or the actual parties interested grow animated and warm. 
The examining judge, surfeited with experience of human failings, 
wears a mask of serious impassibility. The registrar, like his 
superior, scribbles away at his notes. But, when the examination 
is finished and the two inquisitors are left alone, a curious observer 
would see them unbutton their waistcoats so as to have a laugh 
at their ease ! 


The hall, where we have just seen the applicants for divorce, 
leads to the private room of the president of the Court. The 
best time for a visit is half-past four : the solicitors form a line 
in a little corridor, in the middle of a crowd of young clerks ; 
ladies, and as a rule ladies only, are seated immovably on leather 
chairs, in the little waiting room, with a sort of hope that the green 
velvet-covered door of the president's room will soon open ; their 
sole consolation being a few words from a polite, fair-haired 
gentleman, the president's secretary. Those who have the good 
luck to enter will find themselves in a spacious, well-lighted room, 
with President Aubepin seated at a large writing table, his features 
refined, serious, and a little worn by fatigue. After being a 
Deputy Procureur of note, M. Aubepin was, in 1872, appointed 
president of the Court of First Instance of the Seine, which he has 
ever since filled with a tact and firmness acknowledged by every one. 
Around him, on the wall, are the portraits of his predecessors. 

To the right of the corridor leading from the president's private 
room, is a way to the postern gate of the Conciergerie. On the 


left is the Council Chamber, lighted, like a studio, by the tripartite 
pointed window that can be seen from the Place du Chatelet, 
between the two towers of the Conciergerie. At the extreme end 
is a little enclosed courtyard, and in this courtyard is the base of a 
tower which contains the records connected with the office of the 
First Chamber. 


Everybody finds the expenses of litigation serious ; to some 
they are crushing. The heavy sums that have to be paid out 
in "fees to court officials, solicitors, and counsel form an insur- 
mountable obstacle to the poor. The free dispensation of justice 
is an ideal which financial necessities have relegated to the king- 
dom of Utopia; but, in the meantime, those who, being without 
resources, have legal rights to assert, can bring them before the 
courts, thanks to the poor suitors aid department! 

This department, established with the view of enabling poor 
people to commence an action at law, or to obtain legal defence 
when sued, ends indirectly in the curious result that the very rich 
and the very poor are equally relieved from any anxiety as to law 
costs. Only those persons of slender means, who live in straits, 
though not in poverty, and who find it very difficult to make both 
ends meet, are deterred from seeking justice through fear of the 
heavy expenses it entails; it is this class of people who are too 
often compelled, in dread of a costly law-suit, to forego their rights 
or to accept the ruinous terms imposed on them by some rich 

How must people proceed in order to obtain help from the 
poor suitors' aid department ? and in what way are they to 
apply for it ? Few advocates or regular frequenters of the law 
courts have not been called on to answer this question, put to 
them in a humble voice by some poor fellow they meet wandering 
about in the Salle des Pas-Perdus or its side corridors. 

The applicant's first step must be to provide himself with two 
indispensable documents. First, a copy of his tax-paper or a 
certificate from the collector of his district to show that he is not 
assuming a false position. Secondly, a declaration of poverty, 

1 L? assistance judiciaire. 



setting forth that he has no means, and is unable to assert his 
rights at law. This declaration must show in detail the applicant's 
means of livelihood ; and it must be taken to the mayor of his 
parish, who at the foot of the document authenticates its execution 
and appends his signature. 

Furnished with these two documents, the applicant indites a 
letter addressed to the Procureur, making in formal terms his 
request for public aid. This letter can be written on ordinary 
paper, but it must contain precise information regarding the 
actual suit in respect of which the applicant prays for help. 
Attached to this letter are the two documents before mentioned. 
The whole is then put in an envelope and posted, or, what 
is better, personally delivered at the procureur's office. This 
done, nothing remains but to wait. This is just what it is 
difficult to impress on the petitioner, who fidgets and wonders 
what has become of his letter. What happens is this : the 
procureur forwards the petition to the staff of the poor 
suitors' aid department, who will examine it, determine on its 
merits, and decide whether it shall be granted or refused. The 
staff of this department for the Tribunal of the Seine is divided 
into three sections, each section being composed of five members : 
a delegate of the director of the Registration Office, an advocate, 
a solicitor nominated by the solicitors' chamber, 1 and a retired 
magistrate, advocate or solicitor, nominated by the Tribunal. Its 
sittings are not public. 

When a request for aid has been forwarded to the staff, it is 
assigned to one of the three sections. The latter appoints some 
one to report on the petition, and the parties to the suit in question 
are then summoned by letter, and heard, not only as to the 
petitioner's plea of want of means and inability to bear the expense 
of going to law, but also en the subject of the case itself and the 
rights in dispute. The opposite side is at liberty to call in question 
the poverty of the petitioner as well as his grounds of action in 
the suit. The official reporter advises the department to adopt 
or reject the petition, and the department give their decision 
without assigning any reason for it ; they merely state the facts 
and give a brief summary of the suit in question. This decision 
is final and without appeal. A petitioner, moreover, must not 
forget to present himself on the date fixed by the official reporter, 

1 Chambre des avoues. 



for, even though the department decide in ignorance of some 
-special plea or argument which might have been put forward to 
materially strengthen the petition, they cannot, on this pretext, 
reverse their decision. At Paris, in case of the petitioner's non- 
attendance, it is customary to send a second notice ; but, if the 
petitioner fails to appear at the second summons, his application is 
finally struck off the list. If the claim to public assistance is 
allowed, a copy of the decision is sent, through the procureur, 
to the President of the Civil Court. To this copy are added 
the papers in the case. The president then writes letters to 
the batonnier of the Order of Advocates, to the Chamber of 
Solicitors, and to the Chamber of Ushers, who will have to 
appoint an usher to serve proceedings, a solicitor to take them, 
and an advocate to appear in each case without payment on the 
suitor's behalf. 

The benefits of public aid are liable to be withdrawn while the 
action is pending if the person assisted acquire new resources, or 
if it is found out that he has deceived the department by a 
fraudulent declaration. In the latter case, criminal proceedings 
-can be taken against the person who has been guilty of deceit. 

H 2 



CROSSING the little courtyard of the First Chamber, we find 
ourselves back again in the Salle des Pas-Perdus at its western end. 
There, on the very spot where once stood the marble table, 1 two 
large doors open, giving access to a spacious rectangular apartment, 
down the middle of which is raised a kind of long platform, the 
parts of the room near the wall being furnished with tiers of benches 
arranged to form the segment of a circle. Here sales by auction 
of land and houses take place. At two o'clock on Wednesdays, 
Thursdays, and Saturdays, the loud ringing of a bell announces the 
commencement of proceedings. The crowd rush in, the hall is 
filled with the mass of people we have seen waiting at the door ; 
solicitors representing clients, men, women, general agents ; tall 
hats are seen mingled with workmen's caps, and the stuff gowns of 
solicitors with ladies' silk dresses. All distinctions of occupation, 
ambition, and class are lost in one and the same pursuit of gain, 
each one, according to his resources, feeling the same intensity of 
interest and the same passion, whether the property in question be 
a plot of ground worth a thousand francs or an estate valued at 
two millions. 

The seats on the tiers of benches are quickly taken, and in 
every part of the room, from centre to corners, the people crowd in 
till they are packed so tightly that they cannot move. The doors 

1 A vast table on which mysteries are said to have been played in the Middle Ages. 


bang, people enter and leave ; there is a constant coming and 
going, and the place is as full of bustle as a fair. The only things 
wanting are the cattle, the sheep, and the little flesh-coloured 
grunting pigs for sale. The judge there is only one arrives, and 
takes his place at the desk in the middle of the dais. On the 
extreme right, by his side, sits the registrar ; on the extreme left, 
an official appointed to take charge of the lights the auction 
lights. 1 

The auction lights are an old custom. On a huge silver candle- 
stick, like the chandeliers to be seen in churches, is placed a sort of 
iron box, above which is an upright needle. To this needle is 
fixed a diminutive taper, like a wax caterpillar, which burns for a 
few seconds, and is replaced; as soon as it is out, by another, lighted 
at a candle close by. 

The lots put up for sale include properties held in undivided 
shares as to the value of which the owners have not been able to 
agree, or forming part of the estate of some deceased person in 
which minors or persons under disability are interested, and which 
in such a case the law directs to be sold by order of the court ; 
the lots also include property sold by mortgagees ; in one word, 
everything that is put up for sale by process of law and disposed 
of to the last and best bidder. The persons present frequently 
consult a sheet of paper, which contains the particulars of the lots 
offered for competition. Every time that a new number is called 
out there are movements on the benches. The solicitor goes and 
sits by his client, or the latter goes clown to his solicitor, who stands 
in front of the rostrum and who alone has the right to bid. Every 
would-be purchaser more or less openly pesters his man of business, 
to whom he has already given long instructions in the Salle des 
Pas-Perdus. " Let me alone," he answers. " Don't stop me ! I 
will give the other bidders no respite. Tell me your maximum 
price, and I will so take their breath away that they won't dare 
follow." Another preaches opposite tactics. " Keep quiet ! Pre- 
tend at first that you don't want anything. Let them begin, and, 
then, at the right time we will step in and win." 

At the summons of the usher on duty, the solicitor having the 
conduct of the sale uncovers, and asks to see that the proceedings 
are in form. Then as soon as the upset price is announced the 
bidding begins. Two tapers are lighted. Before the third, the 

1 Les feux des enchi-res. 



officer in charge calls out in a clear voice : " Last light ! " But 
higher bids keep coming in, and as three lights must burn through 
on each bid, as soon as a new price is offered, the following light, 
which was announced as the last, becomes the first of the three 
required by law. In this way, when a large property is for sale, it 
happens that the uninitiated, to their astonishment, hear the warning 
of " last light " twenty times over without knowing why there are 
so many last lights. There are few things so amusing as to 
mingle with the public, identify one's self with some purchaser and 


follow his tricks and stratagems. All assume an air of indifference ; 
they affect an uninterested tone of voice and attitudes of lofty 
disdain. " Ten thousand francs ! " cries the usher. " Eleven 
thousand," answers a distant voice. " Twelve thousand ! " shouts 
some one at the other end of the hall. " Thirteen thousand ! " 
rejoins the first bidder. " Any one fourteen . . . . ? " asks the 
usher, with a glance at the opponent's solicitor ; but the latter 
shakes his head. No more for him. It is too dear. His rival 
carries off the prize. 

Suddenly the silence is broken by the sacramental words " Last 
light ! " The situation grows exciting. The reluctant solicitor 


wakes up, urged on, spurred on when he is not forestalled in his 
bidding by his client, who gasps out, " Take care, sir, or I shall 
lose this ! Bid away, can't you ? " " Don't be afraid, I know what 
I am about." And, calmly, the auctioneer puts down his list. 

" Fifty ? " " Thirteen thousand and fifty francs, by Maitre X " 

repeats the crier. His opponent retorts, and the " last lights " follow 
on one another in quick succession. At last, after alternate advances 
managed with more or less address, the victory is decided in favour 
of one of the bidders. He is always delighted at his triumph, 
although often he has made a bad bargain, carried farther than he 
intended to go by the fascination of the contest, and by the in- 
fatuation which is produced by the running up of the bidding, 
giving it all the illusion of high play. 

There are also the puffers, pretending purchasers, who fight 
"fora good motive," and who often become its victims. Their 
sole aim in raising the bids is that the property, in which they have 
a share, may fetch a higher price. They urge on the bidders, 
reckoning on a demand, the strength of which they have miscalcu- 
lated, and the force of which is spent but all too soon. The property 
remains on their hands. Often they have not the means of paying 
for it. They will have to put it up for sale again and pay the costs 
of the resale ; enormous costs which will swallow up all their share. 
How often, too, purchasers deceive themselves ! How many in their 
dreams had redecorated the house, made new plans, furnished the 
apartments in exquisite style, given a house-warming, and then, 
after all, their dreams have been scattered by the excessive prices 
they have paid. Another source of disappointment is to be found 
in the practice of uniting lots. There are, for instance, three 
different lots in one inheritance. Each of these lots is sold separ- 
ately, but with power for the vendors to unite the three into one, 
after the separate biddings, to sec if a higher aggregate price can 
be obtained for the whole together. The property includes a 
charming little house. A pretty woman she is always pretty in 
these cases comes to the auction room with beating heart. She 
has paid a visit to the house ; she wants it, she must have it. Her 
solicitor sends up the bidding. The little house is knocked down 
to him. So great is her joy that the fair client can hardly help 
embracing him. But now the whole three lots are put up as one. 
The total sum realised up to now is announced ; the whole is put 
up at this price, and a horrid lawyer, abominably ugly he is always 



abominably ugly in this case offers an advance on the aggregate 
sum and takes all. Farewell to the little nest ! Perrette often 
comes to the auction room to have her jugs of milk broken. The 
judge, who calmly declares the property knocked down to Maitre 

L , seems not to have even a suspicion of these emotions 

and woes that quiver around him. From time to time, on a fixed 
day of the week, advocates appear amidst this throng to argue 
points that arise in connection with forced sales. 


EVERY Monday, from the beginning of November to the end ot 
June, a change comes over the character of the auction room. The 
judge is replaced by the b&tonnier of the Order of Advocates, who 
looks quite magisterial in this position. In place of the man who 
lights the auction tapers, a young probationer, conscious of his 
glory, reads a paper on some point of law, which, with the consent 
of the batonnier, he proposes as a subject for discussion in the 
ensuing week a discussion which the orators will not fail to conduct 
with their usual skill, showing once more that, when necessary, 
knowledge and style can be combined together. 

In the registrar's place another rising young probationer is 
preparing to resume the discussion set down for the day. To the 
right and left of the president, in the shade where the light 
coming from over their heads leaves them, is a crowd of other pro- 
bationers, forming, with the two before mentioned, the body of 
secretaries to the advocates' conference. A space has been cleared 
in the middle of the room. At the bar are four aspirants, who 
each deliver their little speech in the hope of being admitted to the 
honours of secretaryship. On the tiers of benches is a mixed crowd 
of probationers. The general public are not allowed to enter. If 
they did, they would hardly understand the bearing of these exer- 
cises, these callow variations on well-worn themes, nor would they 
realise the magic that the title of " Secretary to the Advocates' 
Conference " can have for young ambition. 

The advocates' conference is an institution resembling the Ecole 
Polytechniquc and has on its side the prestige of a long past. It 


seems that it leads to everything, and that the title alone is equiva- 
lent to the pledge of a happy future. Towards it tend the dreams 
of every young probationer who is regarded, in the bosom of his 
family, as possessed of some rhetorical talent; and if he be son to 
a gentleman of the long robe, whether judge, solicitor, or advocate, 
his father impresses upon him that he will never do anything in the 
world unless he gets appointed a secretary to the advocates' con- 
ference. The legend has had its effect. All our great orators have 
been secretaries to the conference. Allou was .third secretary in 
1842 and delivered the panegyric on Ferey, at the commencement 
of the legal year in 1843. Nicolet held the same office in 1844. 
M. Buffet was second secretary in 1843. Ernest Picard was fifth 
in 1848, the year when Maitre Cresson was second ; Maitre 
Betolaud was third in 1852, \vhile M. Kaempfen, director of the 
National Museums, was first and Durier fourth; in 1860, Maitre 
Barboux had the number one and the Bethmont Prize ; the number 
three of 1863 was .Leon Garnbetta, whilst the number one was 
M. Decrais, our ambassador at Vienna, 1 and the number two was 
Maitre Albert Martin. 

It is at the barristers' conference that all our most famous 
politicians have made their cttbut. 

M.Jules Grevy was the thirteenth secretary of 1838 and the 
sixth of 1839 (at this time a man could be chosen several years 
running) ; M. Floquet was the sixth of 1853, M. Jules Ferry the 
seventh of 1854, M. Leon Renault the second of 1861 (the first 
was Maitre Pouillet, the third M. Guillot, the present examining 
magistrate, the last but one M. Camescasse), M. Meline was the 
second of 1864, M. Ribot the first in 1865 ; again, among the first, 
are M. Jamais in 1879, M. Poincarre in 1882 ; M. Develle, equally 
first in 1868, before M. Laferriere, vice-president of the Council of 
State ; M. Laguerre is the ninth of 1881, M. Millerand the seventh 
of 1882, M. Barthou the sixth of 1886, M. Joseph Reinach was 
nominated in 1879 to replace one who had resigned. 

The advocates' conference has supplied recruits, especially during 
the last ten years, for the Parisian bench, and it has provided the 
cream of the official representatives chosen by the Minister of 
Justice. An association of former secretaries to the advocates' con- 
ference was founded in 1878 in order to raise the prestige of the title 
of secretary, and to renew the bonds of good fellowship among those 

1 Recently appointed ambassador at London. 


ex-laureates who have become scattered in different professions. 
It counts on its roll two members of the French Academy, Maitre 
Rousse and Count D'Haussonville, eight professors of law, one 
ambassador, several prefects, many cabinet ministers, and some 
men of letters ; it has even produced an iron-master. Every year, 
in the month of July, the Council of the Order select, from a list 
of the young men who have spoken in the course of the judicial 
year, the twelve of highest merit. These will form the body of 
secretaries for the ensuing year. A man can only be secretary 
once. As a matter of fact, the choice is made by the bdtonnier, who 
alone is present at the conferences, and the council content them- 
selves with ratifying his choice ; but the bdtonnier asks the opinion 
of the twelve acting secretaries and makes them draw up a list, to 
which he pays more or less attention according as he is less or 
more positive in his opinions. 

These functions of consulting jurymen which are assigned to 
the secretaries of the conference, their place on the dais by the 
bdtonnier s side, and the consciousness of talent which has received 
official recognition give them a mingled expression of discreet 
reserve and patronising benevolence that would become a young 
professor just elevated to the bench. Each annual promotion forms 
a little clan, the members of which are in duty bound to live on 
intimate terms with one another and to dine together once a month ; 
they all have nearly the same manner, and seem to possess a slight 
family resemblance. Their common mannerism is that which was 
in vogue during their year of office. It is not always that of the 
bdtonnier who then filled the chair, for there are some men who 
cannot allow in another the little peculiarities they have themselves, 
of which they are perhaps quite unconscious. In order to be- 
come secretary to the conference a man must win favour with the 
bdtonnier ; he must not make enemies of the outgoing secretaries ; 
and, if he hopes for one of the first places, his legal essay must be 
a little masterpiece. Here is the recipe. Take two or three very 
simple arguments which bear on the subject set for discussion, 
develop them on paper in elegant phraseology ornamented with 
conceits, add a few telling and, above all, brand-new anecdotes, 
learn the whole by heart, and recite it, with serious conviction, 
magisterial dignity or wild volubility, according to your tempera- 
ment, and the trick is done ! Such, then, is the pursuit to which 
our young geniuses devote themselves every Monday ! 


The desired goal once attained, the proud secretary will soon 
lose the illusions he cherished when a candidate ; the old ideal of 
happiness will now seem vain, the annual list which once seemed a 
roll of victors becomes a catalogue of failures, and the name of 
Barreme, prefect of the Eure, will stand out quite brightly in this 
book of martyrs ; they will learn by experience that briefs do not 
necessarily come to the heroes of the Conference. And yet, those 
who ought to know have told us that it is a good institution that 
should be faithfully preserved. People make fun of it, look down 
on it, but it has given to many the joy of a first and perhaps a last 
success, and now that speaking in court is becoming more and more 
practical and commonplace, the Conference remains the last refuge 
of the delightful art of saying empty nothings in a graceful style. 

But the Conference, in its turn, is sure to see some changes. It 
has already passed through many a transmigration. In 1710, 
in deference to the wish of M. de Riparfonds, the founder of the 
library, it was a meeting of all the advocates in the Parliament of 
Paris who had been more than ten years at the bar. The chairman 
proposed for discussion some question suggested by the batonnier a 
few days before, he touched on its chief difficulties, and each person 
then gave his opinion in due order, beginning with the youngest. 
From 1775, a young advocate, who had given some proof of ability, 
used to be chosen every year to deliver a panegyric on some eminent 
judge or advocate lately deceased ; on the I3th January, 1775, 
Henrion de Pansey pronounced the eulogy of Mathieu Mole ; on the 
I4th December, 1776, Mathieu delivered the eulogy of Guy Coquille. 
Besides this, charitable conferences used to be held to advise poor 
people on their legal rights. This was a kind of board for giving 
free consultations. From the year 1818 the advocates' Conference 
assumed its modern character of a school for probationers; ten 
secretaries to the Conference were named each year, and two of them 
were chosen to deliver addresses at the beginning of the legal year. 
A man could be chosen for several years in succession. In 1835 
the number was raised to twelve. 

The Conferences used, in old days, to be held in the library 
but as the number of probationers increased and the library grew 
more and more inconvenient, it became necessary to find a more 
comfortable apartment, and the auction room was fixed on. From 
that time the sittings at the reopening of the courts have taken 
place in the same room. There the batonnier delivered his 



inaugural address, and the next two leading members of the Bar 
read a panegyric on the late bAtonnier or some literary study, 
usually of a juridico-historical character. But this traditional 
ceremony now takes place in the new library. 

On Conference Mondays a change comes over, not only the 
auction room, but over the whole law courts, the Salle des Pas- 
Perdus, the robing rooms, and the corridors. For, on this day, the 
probationers must come and put in an appearance, and the law 


courts are given up to them. Dow r n to 1884 Monday was a legal 
holiday, and the tradition has left its mark on the practice 
followed by legal gentlemen of keeping away from the courts on 
this day unless they have business there. The probationers can 
then be seen in all their splendour. This year there were 942 of 
them, almost as many as the barristers enrolled. 

At midday one of the watchmen attached to the law courts, 
places before each door of the auction room two wooden machines, 
which from a distance look like mill wheels set up horizontally on 



a pivot. If a spectator, rendered curious by these strange prepara- 
tions, approaches the wheels in question, he will find that they have 
openings down the side, and that the right wheel bears a little flag 
marked A. H., the left wheel a little flag marked I. Z. 

Next, a table covered with green cloth is brought in ; on this 
table is laid an enormous blotting pad ; in front of the pad is 
placed a box with two compartments; lastly, the installation is 
completed by the appearance of two or three inkstands, a dozen 
pen-holders and some bowls full of sawdust. At this moment, 
Leon, apparitor of the Bar, of whom we have already spoken, 
comes on the scene with an air of paternal solemnity. 

From the large box, which now lies open, he draws a number of 
small wooden cases containing square cards. Each of these cases 
will be put into an opening of one of the wheels described above. 
And if, in defiance of the pass-word, we can manage to get a look 
at one-of the cards, we will find it is printed as follows : 

Year I 


... .th Section. 


Vdmitted probationer 

2 Nov. 1891 

4 Jan. 1892 

9 Nov. 1891 

II Jan. 1892 

16 Nov 1891 

18 Jan. 1892 

23 Nov 1891 

25 Jan. 1892 

30 Nov 1891 

I Feb. 1892 

7 Dec 1891 

8 Feb. 1892 

15 Feb. 1892 

21 Dec 1891 

22 Feb. 1892 

28 Dec. 1891 

29 Feb. 1892 

This is a probationer's certificate ; each card is destined to 
receive a signature attesting that the young barrister has come 
regularly. . . as far as the door of the conference room. Leon 
meanwhile fastens to the door of the auction room a slip of paper on 
which is written the subject for debate and the names of the speakers. 

As late as one and half-past: one the probationers continue to 
arrive. Resplendent in hired gowns they take two or three turns 
round the hall: some, stiff as old-fashioned magistrates; others, 



with the cap at the back of the head, a glass in the eye and a 
jaunty air. Then they turn their back on the auction-room and take 
their departure. Only the minority remain behind; but these in 
spite of the eccentricities developed by the academic tournament of 
the Conference are always workers, and, in many cases, are on the 
road to becoming leading counsel. The robing rooms are filled 
with a noisy crowd ; every corner, every table is heaped up with 
gowns, and every gown will in the course of the day appear on quite 
a dozen backs; by their side are picturesque mountains of caps, 
and, pell-mell with it all, a male or female attendant may be seen 
impartially handing out gowns that are always too short or too long, 
and caps which either won't stick on or else fall right over the eyes. 
By the side of the robing rooms and towards the Salle des Pas- 
Perdus some gay ladies may be seen. They come on Monday with 
the probationer who has not yet given up Bohemian ways, and whose 
study can easily be transformed into a place of assignation, all 
the rooms in the Quartier Latin being furnished with alcoves. But 
the student does not feel at his ease. He is afraid of the batonnier, 
of the member of the council who reported on his case when he 
was admitted probationer ; but, perhaps, he is most afraid of Leon. 
So Mdlle. Paquerette seats herself demurely on a bench, while her 
companion signs his name and takes a turn in the law courts with 
his comrades. 



DOWN below, at the end of a corridor lighted by gas, beyond 
the office of the secretaries to the advocates' Conference, in the 
middle of the rooms allotted to the police department, is the Court 
of Expropriation, a low, gloomy room, blocked up in the middle by 
an enormous stove. 

At one end is the court table with the regular green cloth 
cover. This time it is shaped like a horse-shoe, and by an unusual 
arrangement the magistrate who directs the jury sits next to the 
registrar, at the right point of the horse-shoe, the ten jurymen 
occupying the semicircle. The jurymen are chosen by lot and have 
to decide on the compensation to be given to those whose property 
is taken; the judge is only there to superintend the proceeding, 
to guide the jurymen, and to set them going; he is their school- 
master. The representatives of the State, of the City of Paris, or 
of some public department, according as the property is taken by 
one administrative body or another, have brought heaps of docu- 
ments, plans, and briefs. They form a regular phalanx round 
the solicitor or advocate who commands them. They take up 
their position on the left, an army in battle array, with compact 

On the right are the battalions of those whose property is 
to be taken. They are of all ages and of all conditions, and are 
commanded by those special agents to whom their interests have 


been entrusted. All mount with fury to the assault on the money- 
box ; and terrible are the combats waged between the champion 
of the public despoiler, terrible as the angel who with flaming 
sword barred the gates of Paradise, and the counsel for the 
owners and tenants advocates insinuating, tenacious, and strong 
in the manifold resources of a persuasive exordium and a honeyed 

Oh, those jurymen I Those noble, good, honest jurymen ! Both 
sides flatter them, tell them stories, try to make them laugh, arouse 
their pity, envelope them in the toils of subtle and caressing 
eloquence. Nothing is spared which is likely to please or de- 
ludethem. They are overwhelmed with wrong valuations, 
fictitious leases, and rentals thrice as large as the reality. 

" Yes, gentlemen of the jury," says the counsel for the under- 
taking, " look upon this good old woman, who now stands before 
you, with her child ! Certainly she is worthy of respect, she is 
honest. Her life has been one long record of work and courage. 
Never has she tried to rob her neighbour of a farthing ! But one 
day she was told that she was to be driven from her home. 
Some one told her that, in consideration of being evicted from the 
den where she lives from hand to mouth, without even a lease, 
she will be entitled to recover a great sum of money. Dreams are 
coming true ; good fortune is at hand ; there is to be a shower of 
gold over the whole district. And then, boundless claims crowd 
upon us, exaggerations without limit. You say that no one is being 
robbed. But it is the taxpayers who will have to pay ; that is 
everybody. This poor old woman has two rooms under the tiles ; 
she pays a rent of 150 francs a year ; she is offered the liberal sum 
of 50 francs as compensation for her enforced removal. But 
this is far from being enough. Come now, she must have 2,000 
francs ! The jury, this generous jury, the providence of dis- 
possessed persons, will surely not grant her less than this. And 
they now come before you, gentlemen, and tell you some ridiculous 

tale, as you \vill presently hear You are expected to pave 

with gold the two ruinous and unwholesome garrets, which, 
fortunately for her health and life, this poor woman is obliged 
to quit. There, gentlemen, is the whole matter." 

" But, no, gentlemen of the jury, you do not know," retorts the 
opposing counsel, " what this unhappy woman will lose by being 
turned out of her home. For forty years she has occupied this 



dwelling, poor and miserable, it is true ; but bound up with her 
dearest associations, her very life. All her recollections are con- 
nected with the place. Her husband died there. Where can she 
go, without finding herself in a strange land, in exile ? It is true 
these garrets are high up, but there is a magnificent view from 
them, a splendid panorama " 

OPPOSING COUNSEL (with a sneer}. " The view is of course a 
separate item ! " 

THE CLAIMANT'S COUNSEL. " My learned friend laughs. 
Everything, however insignificant, has an interest for one who is 
descending into the vale of years. Habits have become fixed in 
every detail, have passed into eccentricities if you like ; but in their 
little circle they include the last remaining pleasures of old age. Re- 
spect them, then, and think not that in paying for them, even at a 
high rate, you have given their real value. You inflict an injury by 
interfering with them, and it is this damage that the jury, always 
an equitable, always a good judge, is bound to estimate and 
compensate. Again, you are destroying old quarters of the town 
out of regard for the beauty of the whole, and the health of the 
greatest number. Let the greatest number then, in return for 
these advantages, pay those on whom the change brings suffering. 
The cheap lodgings of former times are disappearing from the 
central part of the city ; the poor must seek them farther out ; 
and when found they cost more. Lastly, the mere process of 
removal, which my client obviously never contemplated, is also 
costly. Is 2,000 francs too much for all that ? " 

The jury decide to go the next morning to the places in 
question and inspect every house and every apartment ; for they 
have obtained a very poor idea of them through the contradictory 
and fantastic descriptions of the rival orators ; and they have been 
unable to gather much from the plans, which, as a rule, are quite 
beyond their comprehension. 

They make their little expedition, they deliberate, and, at the 
next sitting, they award the old woman 100 francs compensation. 

Thus, during sittings which last from a fortnight to whole 
months, figures dance, millions slip away, and Paris is trans- 
formed. Some landlords are made wealthy at a stroke by an 
unexpected donation from the jury ; others do not even get the 
fair value of their property. Some lessees rejoice ; others lament. 
Compensations are scattered broadcast by pure haphazard, accord- 


ing to the weather, the temper of the juries, or the caprices of 

After all, the best plan would be to settle everything by a cast 
of the dice, in the fashion of good Judge Bridlegoose. 

I 2 



THE Court of Appeal will soon enter its new home. With the 
appearance of this volume, the First President will take his seat 
in the hall, resplendent with new gilding, the decoration of which 
he has superintended so that it may be worthy of the First Chamber 
of the Court. 

But let us say a last farewell to what will so soon be a thing of 
the past. 

At the top of the staircase leading to the middle of the Galerie 
Marchande, there stands the statue of a woman holding an open 
book, on a page of which are inscribed the words In legibu s salus. 
Here we find ourselves in a spacious vestibule. It once served as 
a chapel to the law courts, and is embellished with seeming 
porticoes and statues, painted so as to deceive the eye. This 
vestibule, by means of inconvenient lobbies, affords entrance to 
the Second and Third Chambers. If the visitor, instead of 
entering the vestibule, will skirt the balustrade, till he comes to a 
few steps, he will be able to descend straight into the First Chamber 



of the Court. It is here that on the i6th October the inaugural 
address on the reopening of the law courts is delivered. 

All the magistrates of the Court of Appeal meet there at 
other times, in ac- 
cordance with the 
ceremonial de- 
scribed above, for 
the formal recep- 
tion of a new 
member of the 
Court or the 
eral's staff. Two 
acting judges in- 
troduce the new 
member. At the 
the chief registrar 
reads aloud the 
decree of nomina- 
tion ; then, at the 
invitation of the 
First President, 
he pronounces the 
form of the oath 
and the new 
magistrate swears 
to it. 

Under Louis 
Philippe the form 
ran as follows : 

" I swear fidel- 
ity to the King 


and obedience to 
the Constitutional Charta and the laws of the realm." 

In 1849 a decree of October 22nd prescribed a different form 

" Before God and men, I swear and promise, with my soul and 
conscience, to perform my duties faithfully and well, to observe 


strict secrecy regarding the deliberations of the Court, and to 
conduct myself in all things as becomes an upright and loyal 

Napoleon III. suppressed "God and men," "soul and con- 
science " ; he replaced them by the Constitution and by his own 
person : 

" I swear obedience to the Constitution and fidelity to the 
President ; I swear also and promise to perform my duties faith- 
fully and well," &c. 

The " President " then gave place to the " Emperor " ; next, 
"obedience to the Constitution" and "fidelity to the Emperor" 
disappeared in 1870. 

The different chambers of the Court of Appeal also meet 
together in solemn sitting for the installation of the chief registrar. 

All judges of first instance from whom an appeal lies to the 
Court take the same oath as the magistrates of the Court of Appeal, 
but before the First Appeal Chamber only, and in black gowns, 
without the least ceremony. Judges of the Tribunal of Commerce 
and all advocates before their admission also take an oath before 
the First Chamber. The advocates present themselves in full 
dress, with white bands and ermine-trimmed hood ; they pass 
before the bar as their names are called, and, under the direction 
of the bdtonnier, they pronounce the words " Je le jure " and make 
their bow. 

They have sworn the oath administered by the registrar. 

" I swear to neither say nor publish anything, in my character 
of counsel, that may be contrary to law, regulation, good morals, 
the safety of the State and the public peace, and never to forget the 
respect due to the courts of justice and the public authorities." 

The judges of all Chambers of the Court of Appeal meet 
together with closed doors, and dressed in black gowns, to hear 
appeals brought by advocates against sentences passed on them by 
their Council of Discipline. 

The following persons have a right to have their cases brought 
before the Court of Appeal when they are charged with breaches 
of the penal code : magistrates, generals, archbishops, prefects, 
bishops, and grand officers of the Legion of Honour. 

The Court is also charged with the ratification of letters of grace 
by which the President of the Republic commutes the penalty of 
persons condemned to death on appeal ; and it is a curious sight 



to see the con- 
demned, alas, how 
fallen in his prison 
dress from the 
splendid appear- 
ance he made at 
the Court of 
Assize, listening, 
with bewildered 
air, to this con- 
fused medley of 
legal forms. The 
judges do not put 
on their red robes 
for his sake. These 
are displayed, but 
only those of the 
First Chamber of 
the Court, and 
those of one other 
of its chambers 
appointed in ro- 
tation to form 
a complement to 
the First Cham- 
ber, at sittings 
which are styled 
solemn, though 
they must not be 
confounded with 
the opening sit- 
tings before de- 
scribed ; the sit- 
tings now spoken 
of are sittings for 
business at which 
the judgespresent 
must number at 

least fourteen, and where the matters decided are disputes about 
the civil status of citizens, actions for false imprisonment, and cases 



sent back for rehearing after a judgment has been quashed by the 
Court of Cassation. On ordinary days the First Chamber of the 
Court of Appeal busies itself with a little of everything. On Tues- 
days, Wednesdays, and Thursdays it meets under the presidency 
of M. le Premier this is the regular, though rather familiar name 
given to the First President of the Court. On Fridays it sits 
under the auspices of the President of the Chamber. 

To M. le Premier belongs the duty of apportioning the 
business among the seven civil Chambers of the Court. He 
naturally keeps for his own Chamber all the important cases which 
demand extraordinary labour or are likely to create interest outside. 
To him are assigned by right the following cases : questions affecting 
the government, the municipalities and the public departments, 
disputes relative to the authority of parents, to the custody of the 
goods of absent persons, to applications made by married women 
for power to act without their husbands' consent, and to the natural- 
isation of aliens. The First Chamber also regulates adoptions, and 
receives the oaths of experts, interpreters, &c. The sittings of 
the Court of Appeal are distinguished from those of the Court of 
First Instance only by the greater number of the judges, who 
must be not less than five and not more than nine ; and the only 
difference in costume is that the robes of the appeal judges have 
gold instead of silver braiding. 

The First Chamber of the Court of Appeal has the honour of 
possessing the celebrated picture of the Crucifixion which belonged 
to the Parliament of Paris. It is a marvellous work which cannot be 
rightly seen during a sitting of the Court ; a picture where one may 
faintly see around the Calvary, on a background of charming though 
inappropriate landscape, a figure of Saint John, frail and slightly clad, 
carrying a lamb ; an ascetic monarch in crown and robe bedecked 
with lilies ; Saint Denis in the act of his martyrdom ; a sumptuous 
Charlemagne ; and, among other figures to be noted, a trusty 
spaniel with a dirty coat. Below this picture sits the First President. 
The First Chamber of the Court is also remarkable for a registrar 
who is a power in himself, and a benevolent power too, M. Piogey. 
The presidents are glad to have his opinion, and he gives advice to 
the bar. 

The moments of waiting before the sittings begin have here a 
peculiar charm ; brilliant talkers are common at this bar, the 
registrar is happy in repartee, and they have as much time as they 


want to run through their list of anecdotes ; for the members of 
the bench, in the ardour of private deliberation, often keep the 
court waiting till three in the afternoon. The calling of the cause 
list is besides a more lively proceeding here than elsewhere; but 
the credit of this must at present be given to M. Perivier, the 
First President. 

He is quite a modern president. His speech is high toned and 
concise ; his gestures are familiar ; his expression is mobile and 
always alert ; with a constant attitude of easy good humour, 
checked now and then by an access of dignity, there is in him 
none of the stiffness customary in times gone by. When necessary, 
he puts an inquirer at his ease, and does not deny himself the 
pleasure of a witty repartee. The Gazette des Tribunaiix might 
publish every day flashes of wit thrown off by him during the last 
sitting, as it used to publish those of First President Seguier but 
he knows how to keep all to their proper level. In spite of his 
unfailing geniality, he never forgets that he is the head of the 
court ; he is skilled in the arts of management, and knows better 
than any one how to quicken the pace of an advocate and get his 
argument out of him. With a quick intelligence and indefatigable 
powers of work, he never shrinks from his task, and his judgments, 
written if need be in a single night, are models of vigour and 
lucidity. It is curious to compare him with his predecessor, M. 
Larombiere, who was also a judge of the first rank, but in a 
very different style. In proportion as M. Perivier is lively and 
impulsive, M. Larombiere was calm and reserved, though without 
stiffness, having no more vivacity than befits a learned professor 
of law. In proportion as M. Perivier holds by the small rules of 
etiquette, merely modifying their rigour by his amiability, so much 
did M. Larombiere disdain them, though at the same time he made 
all around feel their chilling effect. 

M. Larombiere, on working days, sat at a little table below the 
bench, and he looked very imposing, though a stout little man 
with spectacles. 

M. Perivier has had the table removed and never quits his 
elevated position. 

Both are characteristic types which will not be soon forgotten 
by legal anecdotists. 



It is in the First Chamber more than anywhere else that the 
great leaders of the Bar are commonly to be heard. There it was 
that Maitre Lente argued in the Premsel case. There also have 
been discussed the great financial cases of which the last few 
years have been so prodigal, such as that of the Peruvian Guano 
Company, and the Annuity Company ; the case of the corner in 
copper bars ; and the suit against the Stock-brokers' Syndicate. 

The last few years 
have been fatal to 
the most eminent 
speakers of the First 
Chamber; and several 
ex-Mfontturs have 
fallen victims, .among 
them being Le Ber- 
quier, Allou and 
Durier. Le Berquier 
died six years ago. 

But he is not for- 
gotten, and the reason 
why we write so few 
lines in his praise is 
that his son is with 
us now. His was a 
cynical but kindly 
nature, and a loyal 
soul ; he was an 
elegant writer, his book on The Modern Bar being justly 
celebrated, and judges liked to listen to his subtle statement and 
breadth of argument. 

In the speeches of Maitre Allou, it was the flow of the 
language, the music of the diction, that held the ear of the court. 
In every outburst of his eloquence, his style retained its purity. 
In the most impassioned moment his voice never lost its perfect 
modulation ; and his wealth of metaphor and resounding fluency 
covered the dry severity of his reasoning. Most of the writers who 

After Jules Jacquemard. 


have taken part in the production of this book only knew Maitre 
Allou at a time when his power, though still imposing, was a little 
on the decline and its majesty somewhat impaired. It is only by 
reading aloud his speeches, above all that for Trochu, and by listen- 
ing to the recollections of his contemporaries, that they have been 
able to call up the image of the great orator as he was. Durier is 
more present to all of us ; no one would be astonished at seeing 
him reappear, and it would be a rare treat to hear once more, as of 
old, in the First Chamber of the Court, his fluent speech, at once 
so sparkling and so pregnant with conclusive reasoning. Mai I re 
Lente never held the office of bdtonnier; but, none the less, he has 
his place among the great ones \vho have passed away, and the 
bar will always count him among the most glorious of its bygone 
heroes. He was at once a brilliant orator and a first rate man of 
business. He excelled in clearing up financial mystifications, in 
the manipulation of figures, and in finding a way out of the most 
hopeless difficulties. He could analyse illusory balance sheets, and 
confused accounts with such ease, that, for the moment, the whole 
medley seemed the simplest thing in the world, and people asked 
one another how anyone could venture to attack financiers of such 
scrupulous probity. \Yhen he waxed indignant, his indignation 
convinced the most sceptical. How could they refuse to believe 
the solemn declarations of this hearty straightforward man, who 
appeals to your experience, gives you such lucid explanations, and 
addresses you with such good humour a man who, if he had 
a mind, could knock you down with a blow of his fist ? His 
athletic figure, his powerful voice, his way of looking the judges 
straight in the face, impressed them from the first ; his clear 
style of speech completed their conquest. He never sought after 
refinements of expression ; he merely used the words needed to 
make himself understood. Though he had taken his degree and 
passed through the Ecole Normale with About, Prevost-Paradol and 
Weiss, he spoke as incorrectly as Berryer himself. But there was 
in his voice, as it were, the clink of gold pieces ; the sheets of his 
brief, as his hand strayed among them, rustled like bank-notes ; 
and they seemed to shake in the very quiver of his sleeve. On 
great occasions, when it was his task to restore the credit of some 
institution which had been the subject of calumny, like the Bank, 
or to excite pity for some misfortune, his talent took a higher 
flight, his style became more flowing, his action more pathetic, his 


emotion more contagious, till, overcome in his turn by the nervous 
excitement he raised about him, his eyes streamed with tears, and 
he fell back half fainting on his seat, in the atmosphere of ether 
which enveloped him. 1 

A scene like this took place in the First Chamber of the Court, 
at the conclusion of his speech on behalf of the heirs of M. 
Premsel, when the First President was compelled to check the 
storm of applause, saying, " Gentlemen, let everybody admire the 
orator from the bottom of his heart ; but do not forget that silence 
must be kept in the presence of Justice." 

Another great occasion was the trial of M. Wilson, before the 
Correctional Court, when Maitre Allou, invoking the bust of the 
ex-President of the Republic, cried out : 

" You have before you a mournful and historic spectacle in this 
grand old man. But two months ago, he was the equal of the 
sovereigns of Europe, who rightly prized his patriotism and his 
uprightness. He was France, he was the fatherland ! And now 
in this hall, so familiar to the sweepings of our gaols, I stand before 
you struggling to save the name of his daughter and his grand- 
child from dishonour ! " 

The task of maintaining these great traditions now falls on the 
surviving ex-bdtonniers, Maitre Rousse, Maitre Betolaud, Maitre 
Barboux, Maitre Oscar Falateuf, Maitre Martini, and Maitre 

Maitre Rousse is one of the brightest glories of the bar. He 
is neither a faultless extempore speaker, nor an impassioned orator. 
His voice is sharp, his gesticulation angular. But he is a stylist, 
steeped in Greek and Latin scholarship, who loves to adorn our 
modern speech with classic beauty. His professional life has been 
above criticism. His practice has been, comparatively speaking, 
limited, and his talent is not of the kind which wins its reward 
from the admiration of great financiers. He has been able to remain, 
without becoming old-fashioned, the typical advocate of a past 
age. The French Academy has chosen him as representative of 
the bar ; he has been honoured by the friendship of illustrious 
men ; but his best title to the admiration and respect of all is to 
be found in his undaunted demeanour as bdtonnier, during the 
troubles of the Commune ; while the speech he wrote for the open- 
ing of the conferences in 1871 was a masterpiece. 

1 See p. 39 ante. 



As to Maitre Betolaud, he is an advocate pure and simple. He 
is, one might say, the advocate, stiff as the Procureur-General of 
popular tradition, careful to bring no slur on a spotless character, 
and scrupulously careful in the briefs he accepts and the arguments 
he uses. When pleading, he thinks of nothing but how to place 
the case fully before the judge. He has no outbursts of passion, 
except when carried away by the feeling that there is an injustice 
to be redressed. He avoids flourishes, except for an occasional 
grave witticism. His strength comes from the accuracy of his ex- 
pressions and the logical character of his ideas ; his self-respect is 
the source of the authority which belongs to him. 

Maitre Barboux is not indifferent to the graces of style or the 
charm of apt expressions. His speeches are prepared with elegance 
and care, and they sparkle with happy phrases and subtle aphor- 
isms. He has a weakness for 
definition, but he defines as no 

.. -' 

one else can. It is he who de- 
fined legal technicality as " an 
ingenious absurdity of which we 
must have a thorough know- 
ledge before we can appreciate 
its merit." His taste for Latin 
quotations is perhaps excessive, 
but he enlivens what he quotes 
by his incisive voice and by the 
connection in which he always 
uses it. He has been called 
a word artist in dry point ; the 
criticism is just ; it should be 
added that his finest periods are MAITRE BARBOUX. 

touched in with aqua-tinta. 

Maitre Oscar Falateuf is an enchanter ; he has grace, fervour, 
constant sincerity, and a real emotion which no one, not even he 
himself, can resist ; he has the kindest of hearts and the most tender 
of voices ; he is the tenor, the poet, a tenor in the Italian style, and a 
poet after Adolphe Musset, always fastidious, always full of feeling, 
a man far more inclined towards poetry than prose. He will sing 
of the attractions of love, of the woes of the forsaken mistress, of 
the soothing influences of religion, and the sublime madness of 
patriotism ; no one equals him in the art of dressing up an 


obituary notice of some second-rate person, as happened on one 
delicate occasion, when, coming forward on the public platform 
in the name of the Paris Bar, he rose to his task, and gave his 
hearers an unexpected display of forensic eloquence. 

Maitre Martini has won the reputation of a wit, and thoroughly 
deserves it. But this would astonish people who had only heard 
him in court. He sticks close to his argument, almost harshly 
with the tenacity of a mollusc that refuses to let go its hold ; at 
the risk of seeming dry, he takes special pains to keep his natural 
vivacity within bounds, so as not to let slip a word likely to distract 
attention from the point he is handling. Is this disdain for his 
judges ? Is it an economy of wit ? Is it discretion or timidity ? 
It is none of these. It is simply cold calculation. He reserves 
his fireworks for conversations with his friends, for chats in the 
Salle des Pas-Perdus, and for 'professional dinner parties. These 
are curious functions which advocates, in evening dress, attend, a 
dozen at a time, to enjoy the hospitality of a member of the 
council or some candidate for a seat on that body, and form a 
gloomy funereal party round the hostess, the only lady present. 

Maitre Martini is the lion of these little feasts. It is then that, 
a perfect batonnier, he shows his marvellous power of conversation 
and his incomparable wit, reeling out legal anecdotes and stories of 
the day with a fluency that none can hope to rival. Of Maitre 
Cresson, Maurice Joly wrote, in 1862, that to the labours of his 
profession he brought a capacity and zeal which had won for him 
precocious successes. To these same qualities are due the honours 
of his declining years. He no longer has the youthful and some- 
what unruly vigour which his admirers marked as his chief charac- 
teristic, but he has .remained an administrator ; he was the most 
practical of all the batonniers, and he has bequeathed his name to 
the library of the order. 

The batonnier now in office is Maitre Du Buit, a tall, spare 
man, very stiff, with the pale, drawn face of a doctrinaire. He 
pleads with a pitiless rigour and a sovereign contempt for any one 
who differs from him in opinion ; he has a domineering tone and 
brings a moral pressure to bear on any judge who seems disinclined 
to agree with him. Modest, in spite of his haughty exterior, he 
has been able to win the esteem of his brethren without flattering 
them. This is the highest compliment that could be paid him. 
By the side of the bdtonniers we could mention many other 


names : the ex-ministers Waldeck-Rousseau, Martin-Feuillee, and 
Thevenet ; senators Leon Renault, and Berenger ; and Maitre 
Clausel de Coussergues, the deputy. Maitre Devin has taken part 
in most of the great financial cases ; the presence of Maitre Clery> 
or Maitre Carraby is indispensable to give a case the true Parisian 
stamp. Maitre Pouillet and Maitre Huard appeared in the First 
Chamber of the Court of Appeal in the Aciers-Martin suit, and in 

the great telephone case. Maitre Ployer But, stay ! 

if we go on any longer with this list, our book will end in being 
a mere enumeration or panegyric, and will lose the character of 
impartiality which should mark a work written in collaboration. 

Of the other Chambers of the Court of Appeal besides the First 
nothing need be said. They have the same number of magistrates, 
but are more confined in space. From eleven o'clock in the 
morning the different Chambers are thrown open, one after an- 
other, at intervals of ten minutes, beginning with the Seventh 
Chamber. They have a regular programme for each day in the 
week, but in accordance with the system introduced by First 
President Perivier, cases are often deferred from one day to the 
day following, and, whatever engagements the counsel may have 
made elsewhere, they must be in their place, for the Court of 
Appeal never waits for any one. 




To find the Procureur-General, the best plan is to ask the way 
of one of the court keepers on duty. After a pleasant walk a 
building is reached which has quite the look of a government 
department. Pass through the glass doors, which shut again 
without a sound, and here you are in the ante-chamber. On the 
left is an inner door pierced with a little glass window like that 
which leads to a green-room ; on the right, an usher, duly adorned 
with the chain of office, sits slumbering in an upright attitude. 

The chief law officer of the government has been sometimes 
accused of a too great readiness to relieve the cares of office by 
indulging in the pleasures of lighter literature. This legend can 
certainly not have arisen from the appearance of his private room. 
Everything there betokens that we are in the presence of justice. 
The whole place has an air of plainness and learned severity. The 
most humble dentist makes a greater display of gilding. The 
apartment is large, longer one way than the other ; the light 
enters by three enormous windows, the glare but slightly softened 
by dark blue curtains. In the Procureur- General's private room 
there are only two colours, black and blue. Blue predominates in 
the curtains, the carpet, the walls, and the wall paper, black in 
the furniture. 

By a handsome mantel-piece, surmounted by a deep unoccupied 
niche, which waits for the bust of some celebrated man, possibly 
the present Procureur-General himself, stand four arm-chairs, 
straight in shape and black in colour, arranged in symmetrical 
order. Between the two windows is a large sofa, of such severe 
aspect that no one would have courage to sit down upon it. The 



visitor instinctively 
recoils from fear 
of committing an 
indecorum. The 
middle of the room 
is occupied by a 
table, so large that 
the whole Penal 
Code might be 
printed on it ; at 
present, however, it 
has nothing on it 
but a Sevres vase 
in harmony with 
the rest of the room 
a graceful little 
attention to M. 
Perivier from the 
Chief of the State. 
Add to the above 
two funereal-look- 
ing presses, with 
a clock which has 
wandered from the 
is always too slow, 
and you will have 
a catalogue of the 
whole array of judi- 
cial magnificence. 

At the extreme 
end of the apart- 
ment, the Procu- 
reur-General may 
be seen seated at 
a little table, be- 
neath the portrait 
of a venerable sage in 
room), who from his 


red robes (the only gay note of colour in the 
frame sadly watches his successor signing 



papers. All this has a depressing effect, and fills visitors with a 
presentiment of evil. But the Procureur-General is accustomed to 
it, and is unmoved by these mournful surroundings. With an air 
of unvarying calmness he listens gravely to grievances and com- 
plaints, to prayers and supplications ; occasionally a faint smile 
glimmers on his clean-shaved lips when some office-hunter mis- 
takes the door, and comes in to ask for a recommendation to aid 
him in obtaining a tobacco shop. But it is not here, in the 
midst of his administrative work, that we intend to draw the 
Procureur-General's portrait ; we shall see him at his best in the 
full light of the Court of Assize. 

We are now arrived at the office of the Court of Appeal. 
Before mounting the stairs, let us take a glance on our left. All 
these doors opening on a long corridor, so strangely built that it 
looks like the gangway of a passenger steamer, are those of the 
private rooms allotted to the three Advocates-General and to 
the numerous secretaries employed by the Ministry of Justice. 
There is nothing very interesting to be seen, and we can pass on. 
In all these rooms men are engaged all day in carefully sifting 
papers, which are brought to the Procureur-General for signature 
every evening. 


This office is situated at the top of a staircase, the walls of 
which are enlivened by the notice : " Civil Record Office to the 
right, Criminal Record Office to the left." Let us, following this 
guide, first enter the Civil Office. 

We find ourselves in a very long room, where a number of 
clerks are seated at little desks, writing away under the stern eye 
of a deputy registrar, whose raised seat gives him a view over the 
whole room. It looks like a school-room where the scholars are 
engaged in doing their impositions. Nor, as a matter of fact, are 
these scribes amusing themselves ; they are making engrossments. 
An engrossment is an authentic judicial decision, judgment, or 
decree, put into legal language by the registrar. The word aptly 
expresses the thing ; a large roll of paper on which is stated in 
great detail the opinion of the judges who have given the decision. 


An engrossment may be recognised by several distinctive peculiari- 
ties. In the first place, the paper which receives it and preserves 
its legal beauties is yellow in colour, very stiff in texture, ex- 
tremely ugly, and showing traces of hair. It is generally known 
to the public as stamped paper ; but the persons employed in 
the office have christened it "our high-class illustrated paper.' y 
The style is generally incomprehensible, and in a well-drawn 
engrossment at least four words out of five ought to be quite 
superfluous. All engrossments end with the words : " For which 
the fee is. . . ." The engrossment, in short, costs a great deal 
of money, this being one of the peculiarities above referred to. 
Once completed, engrossments are carefully arranged on special 
shelves, where they remain indefinitely, till some day an inquisitive 
litigant comes and asks the registry clerk the question : " May I 
examine the judgment or decree which has condemned me to pay 
such-and-such a sum to Mr. So-and-so ? " Then this judicial record 
is hunted up, and the victim can consult it at his ease, but always 
in return for the payment of one franc. Why this one franc ? 
you ask me. My dear sir, I know nothing at all about it. People 
who want to consult engrossments have to pay a franc ; that is 
all I can tell you. 

This office is not a lively place. 

The office for criminal matters, which lies on the right, is a 
receptacle for papers relating to cases tried at the assizes. It 
consists of two rooms; one for the inevitable clerks, the other 
reserved for advocates who wish to study the set of papers. Every 
set of papers respecting a person accused of crime pays two visits 
to the office of the Court of Appeal : one before the trial, the 
other, which is final, after the trial. It is born in the office, and 
it dies in the office. 

Here every one is affable : the clerks are polite, and constant 
familiarity with criminal procedure has given them a marked 
urbanity. An advocate must apply to them if he wants any 
information connected with his case, and it must be confessed 
that this information is always given with the promptest courtesy. 
After having searched through ponderous registers and hunted 
through many files of paper, the counsel for the defence receives 
the document he requires, and goes to read it in the second apart- 
ment. This is a little room, very bare, very gloomy, looking out 

K 2 



on a high dead wall ; its sole furniture is a table and chairs. What 
countless histories have been read through in this room, feverishly 
ransacked by advocates getting up their defence ; and in these sheets 
of paper, scanned hurriedly, one after another, how many a tale of 
shame has been made known, how base the sins, how heartrending 
the sorrows that have seen the light ! 



LET us leave the Salle des Pas-Perdus in the middle of some 
afternoon, while our ears are dizzy with the incessant buzz of 
conversation that fills the place for three hours daily, and half 
deafened by the shrill tinkle of the bell that summons solicitors 
before the judge who is sitting in chambers, or into the Auction 
Room. Let us then follow the long Prisoners' Gallery, and make 
our way into the corridors of the Court of Cassation. We shall be 
astonished at the extraordinary contrast that exists between two 
parts of the Palace so near to each other in situation. Down below, 
the noise and tumult of the crowd of advocates, suitors, and specta- 
tors ; here, the gloomy silence of a deserted dwelling. One might 
say that jurisprudence, an enchantress armed with a spell to pro- 
duce sleep,had plunged her fervent admirers into a profound slumber. 
Old counsellors, ranged on stately chairs, wag their venerable heads, 
crowned with the black velvet cap whose peculiar shape has 
procured for its wearers the irreverent and flippant name of 
Lancers; a few clerks pass silently through the long corridors. 
A solitary municipal guard, seated at his post on a bench in the 
Galerie Saint Louis, looks half frightened by the solemnity of the 
place. Such are the sombre shades which guard the sanctuary of 
the Supreme Court. 

The sittings of the Court complete the impression of utter 
dreariness given by the building itself. Here are none of the 
glowing or brilliant orations, none of the impassioned or mirth- 
moving debates which engage the attention of counsellors and judges 
in the Court of Appeal and the Court of First Instance. Matters of 
fact, with their endless complications, their human interests, their 
infinite variety are rigidly excluded. In the Court of Cassation 
law takes its full revenge ; the only things mentioned there are the 


driest rules of law, profound decisions of the Supreme Court, or 
interminable arguments cited from authors who have discoursed 
learnedly on some infinitesimal point of jurisprudence. Here 
may be seen the triumph of the old classic disputation ; for 
the speakers in the Supreme Court still argue pro and con, ending 
with a conclusion in baralipton, as they used to do at the old 
Sorbonne ; Latin alone is lacking at the banquet. Thus oratory 
holds but an unimportant place at the Court of Cassation ; the 
main dish in every suit is the Case, drawn up carefully and at great 
length by the advocate ; this contains a detailed statement of the 
whole matter, and a minute discussion of every legal problem 
involved in it, with endless divisions and subdivisions. When the 
counsellor appointed to report on the suit has brought his 
monotonous lecture to a close, the advocate develops his Case, and 
the Advocate-General states his conclusions. Then, if the question 
has only a slight technical importance, the counsellors form a circle 
in the centre of the Court itself to discuss, adopt, or reject the 
judgment prepared beforehand by the reporter. This is called 
faire le rondeau. And there, in the cold light of the hall, beneath 
the gilded oak ceiling of the Civil Chamber, the gray or white heads 
may be seen to shake, and passion a passion inspired by pure law 
revives once more. The apathy, the somnolence of a moment ago 
disappear, and, for an instant, these hoary sages are again inspired 
with an ardour which seemed for ever extinguished. 

The principal court where these sittings are held may be called 
handsome ; it is that for criminal cases, since the new chamber for 
civil cases has for the last twenty years been in process of 
construction. It would be more pleasing were it free from the 
perpetual allegories of justice which painters and architects scatter 
in such profusion over all the tribunals of France. At the side, the 
Galerie Saint Louis, with its Romanesque architecture, its columns 
and its red-coloured arches, interposes an original note, the only one, 
unhappily, in this chill and classic pile. The reserved gallery of the 
Court, with its row of marble busts, that of the Procureur-General, 
with its portraits, of judges in red robes, have a fitting official 
austerity. L'Hospital and d'Aguesseau, Cujas and Patru, Chancellor 
Seguier and President Henrion de Pansey, seem from their gilded 
frames to regard with satisfaction the stiffness and solemnity of 
their resting-place, and the melancholy painted profile of the 
Procureur-General Ronjat opposite them. 



The silence, a silence which is rarely broken by the cautious 
steps of an occasional visitor, and an icy coldness are the unvarying 
characteristics of the precinct where sits the Supreme Court of 
France. Let us respect it, let us imitate those who pass through it 
out of curiosity or in fulfilment of their daily task, and leave these 
lonely galleries, with hushed voice and finger on our lips, lest we 
disturb the repose of its inhabitants. The First President of the 
Supreme Court is however a man of wit and lively character 
M. Mazeau, once an advocate there, who has been a Senator and a 
Minister of State. He must find life dull at the Supreme Court. 




FOUR o'clock strikes, then half-past four. The whole Palace of 
Justice will soon become as gloomy as the Court of Cassation itself. 

There are a few more chats in 
the robing-rooms, some items of the 
latest gossip pass to and fro, as the 
counsel resume their ordinary dress, 
and there is a rustling of umbrellas 
taken haphazard from the heap. 
Then advocates and judges drop 
off into the corri- 
dors, under the 
seductive glance 
cast on them by 
ladies of a par- 
ticular class, who 
come to seek their 
fortune at the 
breaking up of 
the Courts. If 
you notice the 
lights of the rob- 
ing-room glim- 
mering in the 
darkness at a late 
hour, it is because 


some trial in the 
Assize Court is 
As a general rule everything is 

dragging its slow length along, 
finished by six o'clock. 

But in winter time, when nine o'clock strikes, there is a 
faint return of animation. In the black corridors, in the Salle 



des Pas-Perdus, looming larger in the darkness, and echoing 
beneath the resounding tread of a solitary night-watchman, the 
noise of closing doors is heard from a distance, and shadowy 
forms move rapidly towards the Auction Room or one of the Civil 
Chambers. Have Malesherbes and Berryer descended from their 
marble pedestals ? And does their impassioned eloquence gather 
round them at night the busts of the illustrious judges and 
famous advocates whom one sees in the daytime ranged along the 
corridors of the Supreme Court or the Advocates' Library ? Not so. 
More humble are these shades, and less fanciful the object of their 
zeal. These are young probationers, or simple law students, come 
to prepare themselves by means of evening conferences for the 
contests of the bar. Each of these conferences miniatures of the 
advocates' conference has its day, its hour, and its local habitation. 
Each has its constitution. Each elects its governing body. At all 
of them legal questions are discussed, and the orators, wearing 
their robes, occupy the scats reserved for the judges, the govern- 
ment representative, and the bar. The practice is at once diverting 
and useful. It ends by eleven o'clock, and now the numerous 
officials who lodge at the law courts can sleep at their ease, and 
the sentries also. They will not be troubled again till the next 



BESIDES advocates, judges, and others who are at home in the 
Palace, besides the litigants who are attracted thither by their 
interests, there is the host of unfortunates whom justice drags 
thither against their will. This long array of persons coming 
up for trial is now to pass in review before us. Among them 
we shall see the professional thief, educated at the house of 

correction, and taught there to handle no tools save the crowbar 
and the picklock ; we shall also find the honest citizen, 
arrested in the eddy of some surging mob, and standing, dazed 
with terror, in the dock as the accomplice of anarchists. Perhaps we 
shall also find there the popular poet or the fashionable pamphleteer. 
We are certain to come across the heroines of love idylls and 
maidens of nihilistic fame, jealous lovers and husbands who have 
taken the law into their own hands, besmirched damsels and guilty 
women, charlatans and procurers, sharpers in broadcloth, and 
bullies in blue cotton jackets, unskilful Shylocks and speculators 


who have been a little too clever. The most various classes will 
pass by in our kaleidoscope. 

For it is not true that everything ends with a song. The 
simpleton who said so knew well that the bench of justice is 
the final goal. Misery, vice, love, politics, finance, sometimes 
literature, all come to the law courts for their closing scene, 
and extremes are ever meeting in this chamber of moral horrors. 
Society is going to reveal itself to us with its monsters and its 
victims, laying bare its blemishes and its ulcers ; we shall see it 
naked in its ugliness and its deformity, often odious, but more 
often humorous. Crime has its grotesque as well as its tragic side, 
and no great drama is without its comic relief. 



OUR review must begin with the least important on the list ; 
the humble folk charged with petty delinquencies who are to be 
found at the Police Court. 

To reach it we have not to make a long journey. When by the 
boulevard gate we enter the Great Court of the Palace of Justice, 
we find ourselves face to face \vith a broad staircase, on the right of 
which is the old entry to the Conciergerie, and on the left the Police 

Pass through a side door, go down a few steps, and cross a little 
court which lies before you. Enter a large gloomy ante-chamber, 
and here you are. The Court itself is right in front. 

It is lighted by two lofty windows ; but the daylight they let in 
never reaches as far as the back of the Court, which nearly always 
remains in shadow. Its general aspect is cold and cheerless, and 
beneath these stone arches, which date from Saint Louis, the atmo- 
sphere is always damp. 

It is well known that the justices of peace, besides their civil 
functions, are charged with the duty of sitting on contraventions, 1 
those peccadilloes of the Penal Code, which usually cost the offender 
the modest sum of one franc, sometimes more (the maximum fine 
being fifteen francs), with the alternative of five days' imprisonment, 
and of which no record is kept. 

At Paris there is only one Police Court for the twenty arrondisse- 

1 The French law divides offences into contraventions, misdemeanours, and crimes. 
The first class are within the competency of the justice of peace ; the second belong to 
the police or correctional chambers. of the Tribunals of First Instance ; the third come 
under the cognisance of the Courts of Assize. 


ments. Every justice of peace sits there in turn for one week. 
Sittings are held every day in the week except Mondays, and, of 
course, Sundays. Besides the justice of peace, the Court comprises 
three commissaries of police appointed by the Procureur-General to 
represent the Ministry of Justice, one acting as chief, the two others 
being his deputies ; lastly comes a chief registrar and four registrar's 
clerks. The Police Court is by far the busiest tribunal in France. 
In 1890 it issued summonses against 43,528 defendants, including 
publicans, shop-keepers, drivers of public vehicles, porters, house- 
owners, &c. Leaving the pavement before one's house ill-swept, 
shaking carpets out of the window, watering the flowers on the 
window-sills too copiously, not putting up the shutters of a shop 
soon enough, letting a dog stray without a collar or muzzle, such 
are the delinquencies which bring before this indulgent Court 
hundreds of worthy men who have unwittingly broken some police 

The number of summonses issued in 1890 was, as stated above, 
43,528 ; which, after all, is not so very large for a city of 2,500,000 

But the Court of Simple Police, a deduction being made for 
Sundays, Mondays, fete days, and the vacation (during which it only 
sits three times a week), only holds about 240 sittings in the year. 
If you divide the 43,528 delinquents by 240, you will have nearly 
200 cases for every sitting. Each sitting lasts, according to the 
expedition of the presiding magistrate, from an hour and a half 
to three hours. This only gives about one minute for each 
case ! 

How do they manage to get through the business at such 
miraculous speed ? 

Listen, and we shall be able to satisfy ourselves by actual 

The representative of the Ministry of Justice begins. He has 
put each delinquency into a particular class according to its 

He then proceeds as follows : " Summoned for a breach of the 
police regulations as to wheeled carriages, Pierre, Paul, Jacques, 

From time to time, at the calling out ot each name, the word 
" Present !" comes from the back of the hall. 


As soon as the roll-call is ended, the sitting magistrate 
who has put a mark on his list against the names of the ab- 
sentees, reads these names over again, passes sentence on them 
in default, and inflicts on each delinquent the maximum fine 

The names of those charged who are present in Court are then 
read out a second time. 

" Which of the persons named have anything to say ? " asks the 
official prosecutor. 

Two or three defendants step forward, and mutter some kind of 
excuse which receives little attention ; and the whole of this second 
batch are condemned in the same penalty, smaller however than 
that inflicted on the absent. 

For certain offences there is a fixed price, just as if they 
were patties ; but an offence of this kind costs more and brings 
less return than the pastrycook's productions. Thus, every one 
breaking the police regulations as to wheeled carriages is fined 
five francs, if absent ; three francs, if present. But, in the 
majority of cases, delinquents prefer to suffer judgment by 

The time spent in coming to court causes them a total loss 
greater than the penalty inflicted in case of non-attendance, even 
though this be on the highest scale allowed by law. 

Sometimes the magistrate gives reasons for his sentence in a 
solemn preamble, " Whereas, &c.," worthy of the Court of Cassation. 
At certain times, moreover, the Police Court assumes a kind of 
political character. As for instance on the day following a public 
demonstration, when it is crowded with loafers and spectators 
arrested in the confusion for making a disturbance, who are lucky 
to have escaped being brought before the Correctional Police Court 
for resisting the officers of the law. 

On these days, according to some, the peace-maker on the 
bench becomes ' an accomplice in the infamous tyranny of the 
police"; according to others, he helps in saving social order from 
the attacks of anarchy. 

In cases of this kind, professional men frequently, and some- 
times advocates, may be seen at the bar, but as a rule the Court of 
Simple Police decides cases summarily without listening to any 



Astonishment has been sometimes expressed at the rapidity 
with which magistrates of correctional police get through the cases 
that come before them. What should be said of the Simple 
Police Court ? If one acts by steam, the other must work by 
electricity ! 



LET us leave the Court of Simple Police, pass under the arch 
which we find on our right, and make our way round the Sainte- 

Chapelle ; we find ourselves in front 
of folding doors over which are 
printed the words : Tribunal Correc- 

We have just seen those humble 
folk who count for nothing in the 
hierarchy of crime ; we shall here 
meet the middle class, or as one may 
say the burgesses of vice and misery. 

We mount to the first floor, and 
find ourselves at the eighth and ninth 
Chambers. At the door we are 
stopped by a municipal guard, who 
says, in the tone of an omnibus con- 
ductor, " Full up !" So it is ; within, 
the people are crowding in a closely 
packed throng, attracted by the widely 
spread belief that there is nothing 
Court. Very often, 


so amusing as a sitting of the Correctional 



From a sketch by 
P. Renouard. 

however, the idler who has turned in there with the hope of 

spending a good lively afternoon comes out with moist eyes, as 

much taken by surprise as the stranger who forgot that serious 

dramas are sometimes performed at the Vaudeville Theatre. 

As a matter of fact, a visitor to the Correctional Court will 

laugh or cry according to his temperament. I have met one of 

its regular frequenters who used to say that 

nothing saddened him so much as a case of 

adultery. The desolated hearth, the deserted 

husband, the dark shadow cast over the future 

of the children, all these thoughts rose up 

before him, and forced themselves upon his 

mind whenever one of those gross cases came 

up for hearing which the general public greets 

with roars of laughter. But it is to be feared 

that the majority belong to the class who 

share the opinion of Ma Cousine, and at the 

sight of the injured husband say with the dramatist Meilhac : " It 

is useless to conceal the fact; every time we meet a case of that 

sort it gives us pleasure." 

We, who wish to see the Correctional Court under its two 

aspects, shall take two guides in our visit : the first will be a 

disciple of Democritus, the second a pupil of Heraclitus of Ephesus. 
Following these two leaders, John who laughs 
and John who cries, we shall be able, in spite 
of the orders of the guard, to slip through the 
barrier, and make our way into the Court in a 
few moments. 

But let us first of all take a look round at 
the approaches. We see an immense staircase, 
opening on to the Court of the Sainte- 
Chapelle, and leading to the four Chambers 
appropriated to this jurisdiction ; the eighth 
and ninth Chambers are on the first floor ; the 
tenth and eleventh on the second ; on each 

landing is a miniature Salle des Pas-Perdus. 

Unlike the Chambers of the Civil Court, these are not confined 

to special kinds of cases. However, during the second period of 

the Boulanger crisis, when the movement was on the decline, 

political cases came before the ninth Chamber, at that date under 



From a sketch by 
P. Renouard. 


the presidency of a judge whose severity for some time was a 
matter of constant talk. During the first period, press offences 
and cases of riot came before the judges of the eighth Chamber, 
who were rather inclined to clemency. 

Eleven o'clock ! A crowd of people are hurrying up the stairs 
witnesses, interested parties, and spectators. The advocates arrive 
by the corridors : some enter the Courts where their cases call them ; 
others who, on the contrary, are in quest of cases, remain outside, 
with a busy air, their brief bags empty, or, more often, stuffed full 
of old newspapers. These are the canvassing advocates ; a distinct 
type, hitherto undescribed, we believe, at any rate little known to 
the general public. It is our duty therefore, in a work dealing 
with the legal side of life, to devote a few pages to them. The 
trouble will not be thrown away, for to point out an evil is always 
a step towards its removal. 


The despised profession of a canvassing advocate is carried on, 
either here or in the prison corridors, by certain individuals widely 
differing in age, whose notions on the meaning of the word dignity 
are, to say the least of it, incomplete. 

The canvassers at prisons content themselves with greasing 
the palms of warders who are willing to recommend them to the 
prisoners during the hour for exercise. The advocate does not in 
this way obtain clients who pay high fees, but he may sometimes 
get hold of a sensational case. His name will be printed in the 
newspapers, and they will be a good advertisement for him. These 
canvassers for briefs extra muros, these dwellers in the suburbs, are 
not very interesting, owing to the extreme simplicity of the 
methods they employ. 

The canvassing advocate of the Correctional Court is, on the 
contrary, very amusing to follow in his scientific poaching 
manoeuvres seeking whom he may devour. His plan of opera- 
tions is complex ; he has at one and the same time to drive the 
game into his snares, and to keep a look out for the keepers, 
in his case represented by the bdtonnier and the members of the 
Council of the Order. 

The Paris Bar is rather poor in individuals of this type ; it 
however possesses a few specimens of the species, who are known 


throughout the law courts. Any barrister or judge will easily 
point them out to you, and they take care, for the matter of that, 
to make themselves conspicuous by passing their whole day in 
the chambers or ante-chambers of the Correctional Court. 

Round the heads of the profession, members of the pioneer corps, 
as they say in the army, gravitate a number of timid satellites 
apprentices who do their utmost to imitate the great stars, but 
want the qualification of boldness indispensable for success. The 
appearance of an honest member of the bar makes them nervous. 
Let a member of the Council happen to pass by, and they are 
seized with a panic. If the bdtonnier shows his face, they are off 
like a shot. . . . 

But, by the side of these lesser men, it is interesting to watch 
the evolutions of the leaders of this special bar. These latter do 
not hide ; they display themselves. They are perfectly conscious 
of the contempt they inspire ; but this causes them no uneasiness. 
Their canvassing is stamped with a certain grandeur. There is 
arrogance in their solicitation, magnificence in their humiliation, 
and pride in the way they bear the disdain of their brethren. 

They seem to have taken as their device the saying of Danton ; 
" Audacity, and then again audacity ! " At the first stroke of eleven 
they are on the look out, moving about through the midst of the 
crowd of defendants, witnesses,and spectators who are waiting for the 
opening of the Correctional Chambers. Weeping women, brought 
thither for shop-lifting at the Magasin du Louvre, or caught in open 
adultery, are the first victims, their very air pointing them out to 
the canvassers. The latter cast the net, or rather the line, a little 
at a venture, and with the risk of meeting a contemptuous rebuff. 
The client once hooked, they play him for his money, proving to- 
him, to use their own words, that it is " much better to pay forty sous 
more and have a good advocate." 

One of these freebooters practises his profession with a superb 
maestria, with an activity and zeal positively astounding. The 
type of his class, he canvasses in the corridors, he canvasses in 
the Courts, even in the dock itself. He canvasses sitting, he can- 
vasses standing, he is canvassing now, and always will be ; and his 
dreams, if he has any, ought to bring before his view a delusive 
mirage of wonderful successes in his art, of marvellous anglings 
for briefs, of extraordinary clients who let themselves be caught 
everything is possible up to a louis d'or. How magnificent he 

L 2 


looks while engaged in his daily rounds, moving about like the 
busiest of mankind, his head high, his eye wide open, with a noble 
bearing like that of a horse suddenly reined in ; turning his face 
incessantly from side to side, like a cabman on the look out, 
exploring the streets with piercing glance, in eager quest for the 
slightest sign of a client. This is not a canvassing advocate ; he 
is the canvasser, the leading genius, the emperor of his kind. 

In a few moments we shall see his disciples in Court, and 
there let us do them one justice to make up for that which they 
get done to their clients they are by no means niggardly of their 

rhetoric. One of them, Maitre Y , is celebrated for his zeal 

in trying to win hopeless cases. He is gifted with a skill in the 
art of speaking which is amply proved by his flow of language, 
and with an astonishing wealth of argument, or rather with a power 
of dressing up the same argument in different ways, so as 
to present it three or four times. Never stopping at an inter- 
ruption, he goes straight on, in the hope of wresting the welcome 
words " We are with you " from the very weariness of the Court. 
This advocate is the terror of the judges, and they can scarce 
retain their equanimity when they see him appear at the bar. 

With Maitre Z it is the same thing. Only, when he is 

speaking, a listener can indulge in forty winks, or more if he 
wishes. In any case, both these gentlemen make people yawn. 

There is also a third who, as a rule, talks rodomontade, and 
never fails to excite shouts of laughter. Unfortunately for French 
gaiety, he rarely appears at the bar ; and, unfortunately also for 
law reporters, he buttonholes them in the corridors, in order to tell 
them, with an ineffable smile, about the occasional cases in which 
he is retained. 

The canvassing advocate's career is of brief duration, and the 
members of this order are constantly changing .... One after 
another, in his turn, ends in being caught some day, while engaged 
in open poaching, by the officers of the Council of the real Order. 
The poacher then betakes himself to the dubious profession of a 
general agent, which is his proper field, unless he prefers, as many 
of them have already done, to take refuge in politics. Sic transit 
gloria mundi. Our readers have now heard enough about these 
prowlers dressed in advocates' gowns, so let us cross the threshold 
and enter the Court itself. With the exception of the dock in which 
the prisoners are placed as they come from the Souriciere or the 




Depot, it is practically identical with the Civil Courts described 
above. Note however that here the registrar sits immediately 
below the judicial bench. 

But there is a great difference in the character of the spectators. 

In the Civil Court, excepting the advocates and the parties to 
the cause, we saw no one but unfortunates come for warmth or for 
shelter from the rain. 

Here there are real loungers besides the witnesses; good stout 
mothers of families, people living on small independent incomes, 
law students, clerks with a spare hour to waste, little family parties 
in search of amusements that cost nothing. By their side are 
wenches without any covering for their heads, come to see their 
lovers tried ; street roughs come to encourage a mistress or a " pal " ; 
mothers come to hear how much " time " their scapegrace sons will 
have to do. On certain days, numbers of loose women, summoned 
to the Palace for being without the certificates required by the 
police, come in a crowd to spend the day at la currectionnelle, 

From this dense throng there rises a strong frouzy smell of 
seething humanity ; add to this perfume that of the boots of the 
municipal guards ; season it with the 
stench of filthy rags ; mix the whole 
with steam arising from the perspira- 
tion of advocates, ushers, and judges, 
and you will have a full explanation 
of the little flasks of vinegar that 
stand, near the Codes, before the three 
judges who form the Court, and before 
the public prosecutor's deputy sitting 
silent on his chair. This little flask 
is a privilege of the magistrates. 

The advocates have none at the bar, and the registrars possess 
them only when, like M. Lievin, they have occupied their office 
so long that they are almost become actual presidents of the 
Chamber to which they act as secretaries. 



Even for those most inclined to derive amusement from petty 
correctional cases, there are days when even Gwynplaine J could 

1 The hero of Victor Hugo's romance, L'/ionntte qi<i rit. 



not laugh ; for instance, those when a financial case or a charge ot 
fraudulent imitation comes up for hearing. 

But even when the case contains food for laughter, everything 
depends on the president. The amusing points in the hearing are 
brought out or passed over according as the judges like or dislike 
their functions at the Correctional Court. Some time ago there 
was a curious example of the latter. The first day he was called 
on to preside, this Solon, who had only entered Court at twelve, 
had by half-past two disposed of no less than seventy-four cases ! 
There is an instance of another president from whom it was 
hopeless to try and get a laugh. One day a prisoner attracted 

the attention of the whole Court 
by his extraordinary apparel. 
From the moment he appeared 
in the dock, the people pointed 
him out to one an- 
other with suppress- 
ed fits of laughter, 
every one's attention 
being fixed on the 
amusing trial they 
expected to hear. 
The culprit, a tall 
strapping fellow, was 
dressed in woman's 
clothes ! Such an 
attempt at deception 
M. LIEVIX had never been seen. 

This man was a 

vagabond. But in less than two minutes after his name had been 
called he was judged, convicted, and taken away by the guards. 
The president had not even asked him the reason for his disguise. 
Other judges like to give a humorous turn to the trials. On 
one occasion there appeared a lady, no longer young, but 
coquettish in air and highly rouged. The judge asked her some 
personal questions, at which she hesitated, simpered, smiled, and 
replied, " I do not tell my age any longer." " Very well, madam," 
said he, " tell us any age you like." Sometimes it is the presidents 
themselves who provide the public with something to laugh at. 
Such was the worthy judge whom cases of procuring young girls 


for immoral purposes used to throw into an extraordinary state of 
excitement. At the end of a long trial, he once recalled one of 
the girls who had been procured by her assumed name, crying out, 
" Blanchette, come here ! " 

Some austere presidents enjoin silence at the first sign of mirth, 
adding that no one should ever laugh in a court of justice. But 
they themselves used to excite laughter by the famous phrase " Go 
and sit down ! " addressed to witnesses. This saying, which in the 
conversation of persons unused to good society is equivalent to 
"Shut up ! " or "Hold your noise!" has now in Court been re- 
placed by the words " You can now retire." This is so much 
gained for the majesty of justice. 

Offences tried before the Correctional Court are numerous and 
varied : thefts, acts of swindling, frauds, breaches of trust, wrongful 
conversion of goods seized, assaults, abusive language, &c. Quarrels 
between house-porters and disputes between neighbours are those 
in which the public takes most pleasure, especially when old 
gossips relate with many blushes the invectives they have hurled 
in one another's faces. 

" Sir," says one, " this woman has covered me with insults." 

THE PRESIDENT. State the insults. 

THE WITNESS. Oh, 'sir, I dare not 

THE PRESIDENT. But you must dare. 

THE WITNESS. Well, sir, she called me a ... hetaira, but 
she did not use that exact word. 

On which the whole Court roars with laughter. 

On entering the Court we find the box occupied by a witness 
one of those who love the sound of their own voices. 

It is an open-air huckstress, a well-set-up dame who has been 
attacked and robbed by a strolling vagabond. 

THE PRESIDENT. You swear to tell the whole truth and 
nothing but the truth ? 

" Yes, sir," answers the buxom female. 

THE PRESIDENT (in formal tones], Very well, then. Say " I 

The witness makes no sign. 

THE PRESIDENT (losing his temper}. I tell you to raise your 
hand and to take the oath. Are you deaf? 

THE WITNESS (starting off at a gallop}. Oh, sir, nothing of the 
kind, I am glad to say. I take the oath, as I hope for salvation. 
By this crucifix, sir, I swear to tell the whole truth, and nothing 


but the truth. But that, sir, I shall do of course ; for in the first 
place I never told a lie. (Laughter.) 

THE PRESIDENT. Very well ; make your deposition. 

THE WITNESS. With pleasure, sir. I am afraid of nothing. 
This is how it all happened. First, sir, you must know that in the 
morning I go to Batignolles to sell cabbages, leeks, carrots, &c. . . 
a poor living I get out of it, too. Well, the other day, towards 
nine o'clock in the morning, this rascal, who is now in the dock, 


came sidling round my market cart with a comical look in his eye. 
At first I never thought that he wanted to rob me ; on the contrary, 
there was a business-like air about him. 

THE PRESIDENT. But come to the point. Never mind his 
business-like manner. Let us hear how he tried to rob you. How 
did the prisoner at the bar steal your goods ? 

THE WITNESS. I am just come to that, sir; but you must 
first of all let me explain. 


begging, a dirty-looking man of 

The president, in despair at her prolixity, after a few more 
attempts to bring her to the point, sends the witness back to her 
place, and reads out the declaration she made to the commissary of 
police. The public meanwhile receive with peals of laughter the 
unhappy huckstress, who is heart-broken at not having been able 
to tell her story. 

Other prisoners now come up for trial. Most of them are 
professional beggars, idle scamps, to whom begging is a regular 
trade, by which they earn, on an average, from six to ten francs a 
day ; i.e. more than is earned by many artisans and workmen with 
a family to maintain. 

All these people are soon disposed of. A few answers, however, 
deserve note. 

One of those charged with 
forty, who shams blindness, 
energetically denies that he 
asked alms of the passers by. 

were caught holding your hand 
out to a lady. 

because I thought I felt a feu- 
drops of water, and I was 
stretching out my hand to see if 
it rained. 

To another the president 
says, " The policeman caught 
you holding out your cap to 
a lady. POCHARDS. 


lady from whom I asked the way ; so, naturally, I took off my hat 
out of politeness. 

The judges are hard on these regular delinquents. But they 
show a little more indulgence to prisoners with no previous convic- 
tions against them, and there are plenty of these. A man once 
turned up who did not know what this meant. 

THE PRESIDENT. Have you any antecedents ? 

THE PRISONER. No, sir ; I have only a sister. 

The most remarkable thing at the Correctional Court is the 
absence of any moral sense in so many of the prisoners and 



witnesses. This is specially shown in cases in which adulterous 
women and kept mistresses are concerned. Many in this world of 
ours are blind, and many are deaf, but they are far inferior in 
number to the people who are incapable of appreciating the habits 
of civilised life. Zola has represented Coupeau as inviting his 
wife's old lover to his house. The Correctional Court shows us 
many happy homes of this kind, and far more lively and amusing 
ones than that of the three heroes of L'Assommoir. 
Here is a case in point, 

THE PRESIDENT (after Jiaving set forth the whole case against 
the prisoner). What have you to say in answer to this ? 
THE PRISONER. Simply that my wife is a b . 
THE PRESIDENT. What has this to do with the case ? 
THE PRISONER. Everything, Mr. President. This gentle- 
man, who complains that I landed 
him one, has been making love to my 
wife, whenever I was away. 

soner's wife used to be my wife, so I 
was only renewing old acquaintance. 
THE PRESIDENT (to the pri- 
ACCOMPLICES soner). Your wife used to be the 

By P. Renouard. 

complainant's wife ? 

THE PRISONER. Yes, but she has been divorced from him, 
and married to me ; so she is my wife now. 

THE PRESIDENT. And you actually receive into your home 
your wife's divorced husband ? 

THE PRISONER. It is he who arranged the marriage. " Look 
here," says he, " you want a wife ; I've the very thing that will suit 
you, a regular beauty, as you shall see ; and I know what I'm say- 
ing, because I've been married to her myself." So I married her, 
as she was warranted good by the gentleman, who was my best 
man at the wedding. 

THE COMPLAINANT. Well, I told you she was a beauty ; is 
she ? 

THE PRISONER. Yes, but she is a beast for all that. 

The lady who has been wife to both these friends is con- 
demned to pay a heavy fine. After which the comic sitting 
comes to an end. 



The comic sitting is over, but here comes our second guide, who 
will take us to another Chamber, where we shall see the Correctional 
Court under its distressing aspects. 

The burlesque characters are gone, and we shall now have before 
us the lepers of society in all their foulness. Let us take note of 
the creatures as they pass by, and we shall have no lack of food 
for thought. 

To-day it is a body of young men whom the guards are bring- 
ing in. They are sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen years old, not 
more. Unlike to one another in face and figure, they have two 
traits in common : a pale, livid complexion, as if it had been 
washed in dirty water ; and thin lips without colour, like razor 
blades. Morally, they are all of the same stamp ; 
they live on the earnings of their mistress, a 
wretched girl who tramps the outer boulevards ; 
and when her infamy fails to support them, they 
go and steal. 

They are now called upon to answer for various 
thefts. They avow them without the least com- 
punction, nay, with effrontery. They have never 
w r orked. All labour, all discipline, all rule is hateful to them. 

" Left at an early age to live by my wits," wrote one of this set 
in a memoir which the director of the Mazas Prison asked for, "it 
ought not to be a matter of surprise if I do not like work. I have 
given way to my father's worst weakness, absinthe drinking. When 
I had money, I always drank two or three tumblers of it every day. 
Hating work, to seek it was the last thing that could have occurred 
to me. The worse my clothes and the bigger blackguards my 
friends, the prouder I felt." 

The offspring of morally diseased parents, and brought up 
amidst bad surroundings, they have nothing but scorn for virtue, 
for the law, for society itself. Knowing nothing but their appetites, 
they make it their aim to satisfy these at any cost. Provided they 
can escape the clutches of the police, they care for little else. 
Incapable of remorse, they sleep soundly every night, whatever 
crimes they may happen to have committed during the day. 
A doctor would call them men whose moral sense is blinded. 

i S 8 


While the president of the Court is examining them, they 
exchange signs of intelligence with comrades in the body of the 
hall. The Court condemns them. They go out with a shrug of the 
shoulders. Prison life will complete their ruin, and in three or 
four years we shall meet them again at the assizes. 

The brain of these precocious wretches is already in a confused 
sort of way a home for thoughts of assassination. 

M. Joly has said of them, " they are in a permanent state 
of readiness to commit a murder for a word, for a fancy, for a 

They will sometimes do it to satisfy a pure wild beast curiosity. 
As an instance of this take the conversation overheard by Dr. Lau- 
rent at the Prison de la 
Sante between a vagabond 
and a youth under twenty, 
who had tried to strangle 
his father. 

" Look here," asked the 
first, " you might as well 
tell me why you wanted 
to strangle the old man." 

" 1 don't know." 
" Did you want to get 
at his savings ? " 

" I've told you he 
hadn't a farthing in the 

"Then what did you 
want to screw his gizzard 
for ? " 

" Well,/#j/ to see wJiat 
sort of a face he'd make" 

Allorto, Sellier, Cate- 

lin, Ribot were well known at the Correctional Court. Kaps had 
just left gaol when he murdered the old man Vincard. 
But let us return to Court. 

Another set of thieves, still younger, is now occupying the 

The first, eleven years old, Francois D , with a sweet ex- 
pression, large wondering eyes, very small for his age, has taken a 
pair of cheap shoes from a stall in the Temple market. 

Member of the Society for the Protection of Children. 


His father and mother are dead. An aunt had taken him to 
her home ; but, being old, infirm, and earning very little, she could 
only give him a bit of bread every day. She cannot trouble about 
his clothes or shoes. He had to go about bare-foot in the 

" Why did you steal these shoes ?" asks the president. 

" To wear them, sir," answers he, in a child's clear tones ; " I saw 
them, I stooped down, took them, and ran away." 

" But you know very well that it is wicked to steal." 

" Yes, sir," murmurs the child blushing, and he adds a remark, 
the import of which is deep for those who care to understand 
it : 

" But I did not think of it, at the moment." 

Luckily, a member of the Society for the Protection of Children 1 
is present. He comes forward to the bar, and asks that the child 
be entrusted to him, a request readily granted. In old days a 
judge would have had no option but to send the child to gaol. 

The next, who is fourteen and a half, Jules C- , with a bad 
expression, has stolen a box of sardines and a bottle of liqueur 
from a grocer's shop in the Rue Saint-Honore. 

This is his third appearance before the judges for similar acts 
of larceny. The son of honest working people whose hearts he 
is breaking, he refuses to stay in any situation they get for him, 
and insists on running about the streets in company with other 
scamps of his own age. 

When the case is called on, a man of forty, well-built, with a 
frank and energetic expression, goes into the witness-box. 

"You are the prisoner's father?" asks the president. 

"Yes, sir," answers the witness, ashamed and looking down. 
" Sir," he goes on, in a tone he tries to make harsh, though in spite 
of his anger a strain of deep grief runs through it, " I have already 
taken him back twice ; I can do nothing with him ; he won't 
work. . . . This time I will not take him back ; send him to 

While he is speaking, his son's features relax ; they lose their 
bad expression ; there comes over them a look of the deepest 

" Father ! father ! " he cries in accents of despair, " I promise to- 
behave better." 

1 La Societe protcclrice de Fenfance. 



" No ! I have done with you." 
"Father! father!" 
"No! no!" 

" Father ! " stammers the child, his whole frame shaking with 


But the man's voice grows weaker. His last " No " is scarcely 
heard. He is silent for two, for three seconds. At last, giving way, 
he murmurs : 

" Well, then, I will take you back again, but it will be for the 
last time." 

And he quickly passes his sleeve before his eyes, whilst the 
women seated in the Court shed tears 

After an interval, the scene changes. 
Gentlemen of a high rank now come 
before the Court. Faultless in 
dress, in manner and in speech, 
but a little time ago they passed 
everywhere as perfect gentlemen. 
Somewhere behind the Stock 
Exchange they had opened a 
bank which offered enormous 
dividends. Money flowed into 
their coffers. Clerks, cooks, do- 
mestic servants, officers on half 
pay, flocked to their counters. All 
were graciously received. No 
sum was too small for accept- 
ance. One morning, the game 
being up, they levanted, and the police commissary on being 
summoned to the place only found in their safe the sum of 
forty-eight sous in copper. 

In the end they are brought back from the frontier between two 

To the president's questions they answer politely. Not a word 
is out of tune. They talk figures in long, calm phrases. They 
explain their carriages, their mistresses, their sumptuous dinners, 
their magnificent style of living by " the necessities of their position." 
Their victims have been stripped to the very bone ; yet some of 




them who appear at the bar as witnesses such is the stupidity of 
mankind nod their heads approvingly, and retain confidence in 
their plunderers. 

These gentlemen are condemned to two or three years of prison. 
In less than six months they will be pardoned, and swagger along 
the boulevards, saluting the world in general with a flourish 
of their hats, silk hats, quite new and of the latest 

To the swindlers succeed some portly middle- 
aged women, horrible to look upon with their rolls 
of flesh, their painted cheeks, their oily hands. 

Keepers of infamous brasseries, they are accused 
of procuring girls under the age for purposes of 
debauchery. And ten or twelve girls of sixteen or 
seventeen, scarcely developed, but already steeped 
in vice, come forward, all of them telling the same 
tale, quite carelessly, without shame, without grief, 
like passive instruments of pleasure. 

The wretched creatures give details. From their young lips 
the filthiest words come quite naturally. Among the audience a 
few law students burst out laughing, but thinking men shudder. 
As for the girls, they do not trouble themselves about it, and go 
on with their story almost unconsciously. 

Another change mothers who have tor- 
tured their children. One has exposed a 
little boy of five under a spout of ice-cold 
water, yelling out to him, as he shivered, " You 
shiver; die then!" Another has burned her 
little girl's limbs with a red-hot iron. Another 
has hung up her child by the wrists till, under 
the frightful suffering, the quivering flesh turned 

One after another, when the president 
reproaches them with their cruelty, remarks drily : 
" I only used my right of correction " ! 

They are indignant because the Court inflicts a penalty upon 
them. They do not understand. These human females make one 
think of certain female animals who devour their own offspring the 
moment they are born. 

Then come convicts who have broken their ticket of leave. 


1 62 


The majority of them could not tell the exact number of times they 
have been apprehended for having returned to Paris in spite of the 
decree which forbids them to enter it. The list is too long ; one has 
been arrested ten times, another fifteen, another twenty or more. 
Listen to this stereotyped dialogue. 

THE PRESIDENT. Your name is Louis 
Chaussin ; you are thirty-four years old ; Paris is 
prohibited to you ; yet you have re-entered it ? 

THE PRISONER. Yes ; but what would you 
have me do ? Can a man in my position live in the 
provinces ? An employer, knowing nothing about 
you, gives you a good post. In three or four days 
he finds out who you are, and off you go ; he 
kicks you out of the house. Look here ; I was once a soldier. 
While out on leave I stole 42 francs ; it was my first offence. 1 got 
five years' imprisonment and prohibition to come to Paris for ten 
years. The imprisonment I don't care about, though five years 
for 42 francs is rather stiff; but the prohibition to enter Paris. . . I 

THE PRESIDENT. Besides your first sentence 
of imprisonment you have had six others ? 

THE PRISONER. For breaking my ticket of 
leave as now, but not anything else. It is always 
the same story. I come to a town, I can't find 
work, it is only at Paris that I could find it because 
here people don't ask you about your antecedents. 
What would you have me do ? 

Does not this man speak the truth ? Never- 
theless the Court sentences him to a month's imprisonment. It 
is the law. 

Then several ladies appear, fashionably dressed, but ashamed 
and trembling. An inspector from the Magasin du Louvre tells 
how he surprised them in the act of slipping into their pockets 
either bottles of smelling salts, lace, or embroidered handkerchiefs. 
They shed tears, deny nothing, stammer a few indistinct words: 
they saw these articles before their eyes within their reach 
the temptation came upon them with an irresistible force 
they yielded to it they do not know how it was. . . 

While the> speak their limbs shake, their faces grow pale as 
death. One of them, twenty-four years old, only just married, on 
hearing the president pronounce the words " Three months," sinks 




in a heap on the floor, seized with convulsions so violent that four 
guards, with all their united efforts, can scarcely carry her away. 

By the door, which has been left open, may be heard this 
piercing cry, which she utters without ceasing : " No ! no ! I will 
not go to prison; I will die first!" She 
grows delirious, and in her frenzy seems to 
see the portals of Saint-Lazare prison open- 
ing before her. 

The doctor attached to the law courts 
on being summoned reports the case as 
one of " hysterical epilepsy." Her mother 
and husband pass her in the corridor ; the 
one in tears, the other stunned, with livid 

In the Court opposite persons caught 
fiagrante delicto come up for judgment. 

Between noon and five o'clock the Court passes sentence on a 
herd of 108 wretches arrested by the police the preceding 
night, some in one place, some in another ; in the Bois de 
Boulogne, in the Bois de Vincennes, under the bridges, in 
the trenches below the ramparts, on the benches that line the 
boulevards, among the rubbish of houses in 
process of demolition. The rabble comprises 
men and women of all ages. Old men with 
white hair and bent backs ; decrepit old 
women with toothless and receding mouths. 
Male and female companions of about forty : 
beardless youths ; girls in their teens. For 
garments they have nothing but a few shape- 
less rags probably alive with vermin ; patched 
up peticoats, torn vests, pantaloons made up 
out of twenty different pieces, old coats full 
of holes. Young, middle-aged or tottering 
on the verge of the grave, in the full light 
shed on them by the lofty windows, they offer 
to the spectators a succession of cadaverous 
faces, emaciated features, hopeless eyes. They are beings without 
hearth or home. Like street dogs, they sleep where they find 
themselves and eat when they can. Society calls them vagabonds 
and declares them guilty of misery. 

M 2 

By P. Renouard. 


Arrested pell-mell, they are brought into the dock in batches 
of ten, taken at random. The registrar puts down their names, 
the president sentences them, and they disappear. 

No advocate has appeared in their defence ; the president has 
listened absently to their answers, his colleagues thought of other 
things as they signified their assent 1 while condemnations some- 
what at random were rained down upon them. The public 
prosecutor has spent the time in drawing pictures of flowery arbours 
on his blotting-pad, or in preparing a charge for some ensuing case 
which has excited great interest in the public press. Once or 
twice the president has asked him if he has any comments to offer. 
But he has merely half raised himself from his chair, and bowed 
without saying a word a pantomime, which means " I am in 
agreement with the Court." 

In this way the judge, who has a host of charges to hear in a single 
day, hurries through the roll of crime and misery. He knows well 
that he is sometimes mistaken, that several of those before him 
are condemned unjustly. But he soothes his conscience with the 
reflection : " Never mind ! those who are innocent will be sure to 

Few of those who come before the Court, however, avail them- 
selves of this resource. Old offenders, who are sentenced to a 
short term of imprisonment and would not be able to find bail, 
think, in fact, with terror of the long weeks they would have to 
wait possibly without any result before their trial in the Court 
of Appeal. So those who can get bail and persons with an 
unstained record are the only ones who care to risk a " return visit " 
to Court, as the prison phrase is. 

Let us follow them to the other end of the Palace of Justice, 
where stands the Court of Criminal Appeal. 

1 The French is " en opinant du bonnet" When the presiding judge delivers 
judgment, the puisne judges raise their caps (bonnets) in token of assent. 



THE justice of jurymen and the justice of lawyers differ from 
one another in theory and in practice. But these two varieties 
have their homes side by side in two courts, which occupy the part 
of the Palace of Justice overlooking the Place Dauphine. A 
narrow corridor forms the only separation between them. 

The Chamber of Correctional Appeals is spacious, chilly, and 
filled with rows of benches. In its complete absence of decoration 
and its dull gray ceiling, it reminds the spectator of a Protestant 
meeting-house. The law would seem to reign within these walls 
in all its rigour. And yet the atmosphere of the Court has, on the 
moment of entry, nothing to cause disquiet. 

A visitor feels himself in the Chamber of Justice, it might be 
said of justice in repose. The faces of the judges are stamped 
with an expression of haughty unconcern. There is in them no 
trace of the passion which so readily enlivens the features of 
some judges of first instance while they are engaged upon a 
trial. In the Appeal Court, not only do the judges hear the case 
at a greater distance from the events which give rise to it, but 
also without the presence of the witnesses, whose depositions, now 
committed to writing, have lost in the registrar's notes all power 
of exciting emotion. The prisoner, who is still bewildered by the 
expeditious and sometimes brutal style in which his trial was 
conducted at the former hearing, begins to dream of an acquittal 
when he contemplates the comforting solemnity which pervades 
the Court, and above all its punctilious observance of legal 
formalities. The poor man, surprised at the scrupulous attitude 
of his new judges, anxiously drinks in with eyes and ears every 
detail of the scene in which he figures. 

It is his case they are trying, and yet he has scarcely any part 
in its discussion. The president, in a tone courteous in its form- 


ality, asks him a few brief questions respecting his antecedents. 
Then he adds politely, turning to one of his colleagues, " The 
reporting counsellor will now make his statement.'' A sharp voice, 
rising from somewhere among the seven counsellors, at once 
recapitulates the different phases of the case, and sets forth 
minutely the proceedings, the arguments, and the judgment in the 
Court below. This report is completely devoid of any literary 
graces ; it is merely a formal statement stuffed full of facts, and 
bearing the stamp of real impartiality. No personal observation 
finds its way into it. 

From the commencement of the reporting counsellor's address, 
the prisoner's whole thoughts have been concentrated on the task 
of finding out whence comes the hard voice which strike his ears. 
His eyes range up and down the line of seven judges, seated on 
his left, round a table in the shape of a horse-shoe, with a green 
cloth, loaded with papers and bulky legal tomes. He examines 
them one after another, in their carelessly varied attitudes, all 
engaged, not in listening, but in reading or writing. The lips of 
one of the judges move, and his hands change their position from 
the necessity of selecting papers from the heap before him ; by 
these signs the accused distinguishes the reporting counsellor. 
From that moment he never takes his looks off him ; his ears are 
as it were closed, and all his powers of attention are concentrated 
in his eyes. 

At the end of ten or twenty minutes the reporting counsellor's 
voice comes to a full stop. The president, recalled from the extra- 
judicial occupation on which he was engaged, raises his head, and 
says in a cold tone : 

" Prisoner at the bar, stand up." 

The examination of the prisoner now takes place ; a summary 
proceeding in which the president, without a shadow of acrimony, 
in the style, as one might say, of Suetonius, quietly runs 
through the chief counts of the indictment, and asks the prisoner 
what he has to say in answer. The counsellors then for the first 
time turn their eyes towards the accused ; they listen to some of 
his explanations, and, like men whose scruples are readily satisfied, 
they return to the tasks they had for a moment interrupted. The 
president then says " Counsel for the defence." Thereupon the 
advocate of the accused begins a long address. After a second 
statement of the case, a statement made from his own point of 
view, he goes carefully to work to break down each of the grounds 




stated in the judgment against his client ; and contends, both for 
reasons of fact and for reasons of law, that the decision of the 
Court below should be annulled or at any rate modified. Then 
when at last the confirmation of the sentence appealed against 
begins to look in danger,the Advocate- 
General, in his turn, offers a few brief 
observations. In his conclusions, as 
they are called, he does his best to 
demolish the arguments for the de- 
fence, and to show with a logical 
power equal to his opponent's that 
the Tribunal of Correctional Police 
has made a correct application of 
the law. Sometimes, but only in 
very exceptional cases, the repre- 
sentative of the Public Ministry asks 
the Court of Appeal to increase the 
sentence. In legal language, this is 
called an appeal a minima. 

During this oratorical duel, of 
which he knows well he will be the 

only victim, the accused keeps changing his attitude mechani- 
cally. For the first-half hour he follows the arguments of his 
counsel ; his expression is animated, and he looks fondly on the 
speaker with admiring eyes. But, little by little, his attention 
flags ; it ends by becoming completely wrecked in this sea of legal 
quibbles. His blinking looks now wander from one side to the 
other, turning always principally on the row of counsellors. Should 
one of them at any time raise his head, and seem to listen to a 
passage of the speech for the defence, the unhappy man makes 
desperate efforts to read on his countenance the impression made 
by the words. And his heart sinks when he sees the judge after 
this fit of distraction return to his interrupted task. 

Growing anxious, he looks round for a friendly face, and with 
this object he explores every corner and recess of the hall of 
justice. But nowhere does he find what he is in search of. The 
registrar and usher have their regular expression of professional 
apathy. Seated in front of him, before long tables in tiers, where 
the juries of the Seine Assize Court sometimes sit when there 
is a double Assize Session, the members of the bar, with wearied 
air, wait for their cases to come on. They have no eyes for any- 

1 68 


thing except the clock, which, with mechanical movements of the 
head, they consult every five minutes. The audience and the 
policemen with their set faces are too far off for him to make 
a guess at their sentiments. Affrighted by 
this absence of sympathy, oppressed by the 
isolation in which he finds himself, he re- 
turns as a last resource to watching his own 
counsel. The latter, having 
finished his speech, is now 
relaxing his mind by drawing 
a caricature of the Advocate- 
General on a corner of his 
brief. The accused feels him- 
self gradually yielding to the 
atmosphere of indifference 
which surrounds him. Rather 
than pay attention to the con- 
temptuous address of the Ad- 
vocate-General, he examines 
abstractedly the architecture 
of the Court, stares at the 
ceiling, then, turning his head, 
gazes with attention at the 
bust of the Republic, below 

which is inscribed in golden letters this couplet in post-classical 
Latin : 

" Hie poena: scelerum ultrices posuere tribunal, 
Sontibus uncle tremor, civibus unde salus." 

But the president's voice is heard once more saying : " The Court 
will now deliberate. . . ." 

The judges rise heavily from their seats ; and after a few 
moments' discussion in a circle behind the president's chair, they 
file out in line to the Council Chamber. This means that some 
question of law has cropped up. Had it not been for this, judg- 
ment would have been immediately delivered on the spot. The 
accused catches at every straw. Is this solemn deliberation in 
his favour ? Alas, no. The Court of Appeal rarely withdraws 
to the Council Chamber except to patch up a somewhat hasty 
judgment delivered by the Court of First Instance ; a judgment 
which, excellent so far. as the condemnation goes, has some trifling 
defect of form, which could not bear the scrutiny of the Supreme 


Court. The spirit of jurisprudence, always stirring in the breasts 
of the counsellors, gives itself full play. The decision appealed 
from receives the touch of juridical varnish needed to make it 
perfect. Vying with one another, they display their skill in sup- 
porting it by the most subtle arguments. With a marvellous refine- 
ment of logic, the legal text referred to in the original charge is 
made to include the case against the prisoner. There is not even 
a semblance of opposition. 

Accompanied by the six smiling counsellors, the president, 
with the documents of the case under his arm, makes a triumphant 
return into Court. With lively notes of joy in his voice, he reads 
the decree, setting forth that, though the grounds given for the 
original judgment are invalid, the operative part must nevertheless 
be confirmed. 

The condemned man listens with stupefied air as the hopes he 
had built up on the solemn judicial debates in which he was not 
badly treated are dashed to the ground. Are we to gather from 
this that the Chamber of Correctional Appeals, irreverently de- 
signated by Henri Rochefort the " Chamber of Bishops," always 
confirms the judgments of the Court below ? Not so. It has 
given celebrated decisions in which it has manifested its high 
judicial tone, and has proved both its independence and its disdain 
for the verdicts of the multitude. To it in fact was due the 
acquittal of M.Wilson, who, during the arguments in his case, while 
nervously stroking a long russet beard, kept a confident gaze on the 
Latin couplet inscribed under the bust of the Republic ; a couplet 
in which the pentameter 

" Sontibus unde tremor, civibus unde salus" 

seemed to stand out with an unusual brightness. 



BEFORE proceeding to the Court of Assize, the great stage on 
which the chief criminal dramas run their course, we must make a 
little detour, and, under the guidance of some Asmodeus, try and 
visit the sealed Chamber of Indictments, the ante-chamber where 
for several weeks the most important criminal cases sent for trial 
undergo a preliminary preparation. After having mounted the steps 
of the grand staircase, the visitor will hear the first hum of counsel 
and litigants in the robing-room corridor. Here he will find a little 
low door. It leads by a dark stairway to a series of gloomy 
apartments, on the level of the ground, with no other horizon but 
the walls of the Sainte-Chapelle. It is here that the Chamber of 
Indictments still holds its sittings. Very soon it will migrate with 
the Court of Appeal into new buildings, which will be lofty and 
well lighted. And yet this old-fashioned accommodation forms a 
very suitable frame for the Chamber which labours within closed 
doors at the work of despatching defendants to take their trial 
before the Assize Court. At the foot of the little staircase is a 
room occupied by the registrar, M. Horoch, whose courteous ad- 
dress forms a singular contrast to the surrounding gloom. Then 
comes the judges' robing-room. It opens on to an apartment 
quite soberly furnished, where the substitutes come for a chat, 
while waiting their turn to go to the Council Chamber to explain 
the cases entrusted to them. This Council Chamber is a fairly 
large apartment, with a decayed look about it. In the middle is 
an oval table with a green cloth, round which are set seven arm- 



chairs for the counsellors, and the chair of the substitute. Were it 
not for a respectable row of stout volumes ranged in a sliding book- 
stand, one would say may Themis pardon the blasphemy that 
it was a table devoted to secret games of baccarat ! 

Round this table the six counsellors and their president meet 
twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays. But though badly housed 
they do not scamp their work. On the one hand they have to 
decide appeals brought from decisions of the judges of instruction 
relative to applica- 
tions for bail. On 
the other, they have 
to settle, in the case 
of all persons ac- 
cused of felony, 
whether they are to 
be sent for trial be- 
fore the Court of 
Assize, or whether 
they are entitled to 
the benefit of a find- 
ing of " no true 
bill." In this latter 
task they are en- 
lightened by the 
public prosecutors 
who come, in turn, 
to deliver their re- 
ports on all criminal 
cases before the 
Court. The coun- 
sellors deliberate, 
and one of them is 

selected by the president to draw up their decision. This labour, 
portioned out among six counsellors, is no light one for each 
counsellor, since in the course of the year the Chamber delivers, 
under this head alone, from six to eight hundred judgments. But 
this is not all. The new Code of Criminal Instruction has operated 
with peculiar cruelty towards these magistrates by imposing on 
them the duty of pronouncing rehabilitations. From this time 
forward every person punished for a criminal offence can, at the 


end of three full years, have the record of his sentence struck 
out if he proves to have been of good behaviour during that 
period. This enactment was the first sign of a social movement 
to which we owe the recent Berenger law. Before it took place, 
the number of rehabilitations per annum did not exceed seventy. 
Now they amount to more than eight hundred. But progress 
continues its work, day by day, even in the Palace of Justice. 

A new habitation has been prepared for the Chamber of Indict- 
ments. At present it is occupied by the juries appointed to assess 
compensation for disturbance. For once, the civil law takes 
precedence of the criminal. 




IN every canton of France an annual assembly, composed of 
mayors, justices of peace, and municipal councillors, selects a 
number of citizens of good repute for character and conduct to act 
as those judges of fact in important criminal cases who are styled 
"gentlemen of the jury." The names chosen are forwarded to the 
judicial authority, and a fresh selection is then made out of them 
by a commission which meets in the chief town of the department. 
The persons selected by this latter body form the general jury list ; 
and from this general list are drawn by lot once a quarter in the 
provinces and once a fortnight in Paris the names of those who 
are actually to serve on the juries at criminal sessions. The number 
required is thirty-six acting and four supplementary jurymen. All 
men over thirty years of age are bound by law to serve on juries. 
Nobody unless he is over seventy can refuse to take his part in the 
administration of justice, under a penalty of five hundred francs. 
All citizens thus enjoy the honour, though all do not equally appre- 
ciate it. A juryman receives a ridiculously inadequate allowance 
for travelling expenses ; for his loss of time while engaged he re- 
ceives no compensation at all. His business suffers from his ab- 
sence, and his wife, during her husband's temporary administra- 
tion of justice, does not always remain the model wife, content to 
stay at home and knit stockings. It is true that for the retired 
captain, living on his half-pay amidst the dulness of provincial 
towns, there is nothing irksome in this little trip to town. The 
veteran fastens a broad piece of ribbon to his buttonhole, brushes 
up his Sunday hat with vigorous elbow, and takes out the venerable 


frock coat which lies sleeping on a bed of pepper and camphor at 
the bottom of his chest of drawers ; then, with waistband tightly 
buckled, clothes smartly arranged, and a suspicion of dye about 
the grizzled tips of his moustache, he alights at the Hotel de France, 
determined to save society from danger and to show his contempt 
for droning counsel. 

But it is very different with Jean Mathurin Besnard, the 
metayer. 1 When one evening in harvest he sees the parish 
constable arrive with a peremptory summons requiring him to 
serve on a jury, he knocks the ashes out of his pipe against his 
boot heel furiously, and, pointing in despair to the standing crops, 
curses the judicial system, the government, and the taxes; asks 
whether there are not shopkeepers enough in the town to make a 
jury without tearing him away from his land, the land he loves, the 
land he could clasp passionately in his arms like a sweetheart; and, 
bending down hastily to his interrupted task, he finishes in the dusk 
the work of a day which has gone only too fast. 

See them all assembled in the hall of the Assize Court, the 
members of the jury. The sessions are about to begin. Unknown 
for the most part to each other, they watch one another closely, and 
insensibly fall into groups round those of their number who have 
decorations. There they are, all of them men of respectability 
come together to try the pariahs; the flourishing notary, with eye- 
glass and flowing whiskers, who knows his way about the place, 
and is looking out for some barrister of his acquaintance to get 
him excused on account of his profession ; the elderly man of 
independent means, stern, silent, and self-conscious ; then some 
Bohemian artist, with luxuriant hair and loose neckcloth, who will 
be too easily attracted by the improbable and the romantic to make 
a good juryman. . . . And, farther down, keeping modestly in the 
background, will be seen, on this judicial stage where a bourgeois* 
fate is sometimes decided, a notable member of the fourth estate in 
the person of some foreman, grave, attentive, almost contemplative ; 
one who, in the uprightness of his intentions, would make a model 
judge were not his head stuffed with newspaper articles. 

They are worthy men, all of them. . . . Individual failings, 
corrupt bargains, violent decisions are not to be dreaded when a 

1 A farmer wilh fixity of tenure, who divides the profits of the land equally with the 
landlord. The metayer system in France an 1 Italy has been described by many writers 
from Arthur Young to John Stuart Mill. 


man is not sole judge. With his eleven companions by his side, a 
juryman will make it a point of conscience to appear upright,, 
scrupulous, and disinterested ; and it may be stated as a fact that, 
from the moral point of view, the collective is higher than the 
individual standard. On that point all thinkers are agreed. Worthy 
men, I repeat it, are these gentlemen of the jury. But with such a 
want of experience and decision ! No ! It is far from easy for a 
man to isolate himself so as to become absolutely impartial. Every 
opinion of a juryman is in its essence subjective. He will never 
condemn or acquit a prisoner on considerations of the public good, 
but solely for some reason drawn from his own experience. A man's 
guilt will make a greater or smaller impression upon him in pro- 
portion as he himself runs the risk of being a sufferer from the 
crime in question. It is a notorious fact that before a country jury 
girls guilty of infanticide are generally acquitted. A natural child f 
What would have become of the little creature ? It would have been 
necessary to bring it up at the expense of the parish ; and when it 
reached the age of fifteen it would have taken to burning hayricks? 
As to the man accused of arson, he knows what to expect. The 
peasant-farmer, exposed without protection to fire, will show him 
neither leniency nor mercy. 

It is the same with indecent assaults on children ; for villagers* 
children often remain by themselves at the farm while the father 
and mother are working in the fields. The coiner has no more pity 
to expect. A countryman will, as cases show, send a man to the 
galleys for passing a counterfeit half-franc. The severity of a 
Versailles jury has become traditional. Composed of market- 
gardeners, half-pay officers, and retired clerks, living in suburban 
cottages which are open day and night to the depredations of the 
Parisian scum, they punish without pity any malefactor hailing 
from the great city; the verdict asked for by the prosecution is 
always found, and sometimes a good deal more. A good instance 
of this happened a few years ago in the case of three young 
scoundrels who came from Paris to murder an old woman who 
kept a small inn at Argenteuil ; the public prosecutor only asked 
for one head ; the Versailles jury gave him all the three. 

The Parisian jury is quite otherwise composed and more difficult 
to analyse. It will not give a caste verdict, because in Paris the 
various castes run into one another too much. But it is at the 
mercy of a good speaker. This will not be the counsel, who is 

rarely listened to, nor even the Advocate-General, whom the fault- 
finding Parisian condemns because he represents authority. No; 
it is from among their own body that the jury will choose this real 
leader, some reasoner with an abundant and easy flow of language ; 
a man with a talent for seeing into millstones and round corners, 
who is the more dangerous to the good sense of his colleagues 
as he is more skilful in playing with paradoxes. 

A Parisian jury is moreover under the spell of two mistresses : 
fashion and sensation. 

During several years the appearance in the dock of heroines of 
the revolver and the vitriol flask was a mere matter of form. It 
had become a tradition to acquit in cases of crime caused by passion. 
The Ministry of Justice was compelled to take steps to do with- 
out a jury in the majority of these cases by a change in procedure ; 
that is to say, ladies accused of causing wounds or injuries with 
vitriol were sent before a trusty " ninth Chamber," which did not 
neglect its duty. 

Treated thus as an inferior jurisdiction and incapable of judg- 
ing in certain cases, juries were put on their good behaviour. At 
the present day they return fairly reasonable verdicts in cases in 
which love has played a part. None the less, in these delicate 
matters, a Parisian jury remains a big baby which must be kept in 
leading strings and carefully looked after. 

We were speaking just now of sensation. A Parisian jury is 
easily moved by the notoriety or celebrity attached to a case. 
Suppose there are two wretches who have committed similar 
crimes. If the first is lucky enough to have done the deed in the 
middle of a Ministerial crisis, on the day when the Grand Prize is 
run for, or during the annual demonstration on May Day; if, in one 
word, there was any chance of the murder passing unnoticed, the 
jury will be complaisant, and the culprit will easily obtain the 
benefit of extenuating circumstances. If on the other hand the 
crime has caused excitement, if the press has taken it up, if the 
newspapers have published portraits of the victims accompanied 
by appalling descriptions, the prisoner is certain to be condemned 
to death. Billoir, who deserved six months in gaol for having 
given an unlucky kick to his old mistress in the middle of a 
drunken quarrel, was condemned to death because the dismember- 
ment of the body had excited universal horror; and, to crown all, 
Marshal MacMahon left him to the guillotine " on account of his 



excellent antecedents," that is, because he was an ex-soldier and 
had dishonoured the army. 


Our good jurymen are now met in the Assize Court, feeling 
rather out of their element in the midst of judicial parade. The 
usher reads out the general list of names ; excuses are made 
on behalf of some because of illness, or because they must live by 
daily labour. A few others are sent about their business because, 


at the last moment, it is found that they have at some, time been 
convicted of a penal offence ; so carelessly are the lists drawn 
up. Occasionally a man who refuses to serve has to pay into the 
treasury or rather out of Jiis treasury a fine of 500 francs, and 
his name is put back into the urn for next sessions. At last the 
non-effectives being got rid of, and the panel made up by the 
addition of supplementary jurymen, the jury for the sessions is 



The president of the Court of Assize 1 then has the accused 
brought into the Council Chamber, whither he himself goes, 
followed by the thirty-six jurymen, and accompanied by the 
advocate-general and the counsel for the defence. " Prisoner," 
says he, "these gentlemen have been summoned to try you. I 
am going to put their thirty-six names in the urn ; you have the 
right to challenge any twelve of them ; the Public Prosecutor has a 
right to challenge an equal number. As soon as the names of 
twelve unchallenged jurymen shall have been drawn out of the 
urn the jury will be constituted." Then, pulling up the right 
sleeve of his scarlet robe, the president shakes the urn containing 
the ballots on which the names of the jurymen are inscribed, and 
calls them out, as they appear, in a loud voice. 
" Present ! " answers the juryman. 

" Challenged ! " thunders the advocate-general or yelps the 
prisoner's advocate. 

Except the cunning rogues who get themselves challenged so 
as to escape serving, when they have the means of arranging 
matters, a juryman who has this " Begone " flung full in his face 
reddens violently; his eyes roll round like loto balls, and he opens 
his mouth as if for a protest which is stopped on his lips by the 
awe he feels for the majesty of justice. After all, there is nothing 
discreditable in being challenged. Although neither the Public 
Prosecutor nor the advocates engaged are accountable to any 
one for their challenge, it is always easy to guess its motives. 
The advocates for the defence will challenge a married juryman 
in a case connected with morality ; in a case of embezzlement by 
a clerk, he will challenge employers of labour ; in a case of infanti- 
cide, young fathers of families. 

In some cases, in political trials for example, and on occasions 
when the selection of the jury is made in public, as is usual in 
certain provincial courts, the right of challenge assumes a vital 
importance ; then the advocate-general and the counsel for 
the defence watch one another out of the corners of their eyes. 
They wait ! . . . . Neither party being able to make more than a 
certain number of challenges, they each hope that the opposite 
side, acting on false information, may unwittingly deliver them from- 

1 I.e. the presiding judge. Criminal cases at the Court of Assize are heard by three- 
judges sitting together. 


an enemy. There begins a curious duel, rich in comedy both as re- 
gards the gestures and the attitudes of the combatants. The name 
of a juryman suspected by both parties is drawn out of the urn : 
nobody says a word ; the juryman, full of dignity, moves majes- 
tically to his place ; he is just about to take his seat, he is already 
sitting down, when, at the last moment, a sharp and sudden cry of 
" Challenged ! " pulls him up on the very verge of his judicial 

The juryman starts, takes up, with sullen air, the hat he had 
just put down, and disappears, covered with confusion, in the mock- 
ing crowd of his colleagues. People have no idea of the minute 
investigations made by the prosecution and defence into " their " 
jurymen ; the political opinions of the husband, the religious 
profession of the wife, the family connections the police inquires 
into everything as if it was a question of drawing up a report on 
the physical and moral condition of a contumacious prisoner. As 
a result, the Public Prosecutor and the counsel for the defence 
arrive at an astonishing degree of information. 

A few years ago there appeared before the Assize Court of 
Corsica a young journalist belonging to the Bonapartist party, 
named Antoine Leandri. He had taken to the bush l with a 
little army of malcontents to protest against certain harassing 
administrative regulations. He was brought before a Corsican 
jury on a charge of stirring up civil war. The procureur-general 
Moras and the counsel for the defence, Maitre de Montera > 
engaged in a Homeric battle over the selection of the jury. Each 
exercised his right of challenge with the most determined zeal. 
When at length their right came to an end, both of them reckoned 
up the jurymen who had survived the slaughter, and, after having 
gone through the names, the procureur-general Moras bent to- 
wards the counsel for the defence and remarked, with a smile, 
" Your man is acquitted by ten votes to two." " So he is ! " 
answered Maitre de Montera, after having verified the numbers in 
his turn. And this is what actually happened, the trial making no 
change, and the eloquence of the two speakers not turning a single 
vote. Under the circumstances, the calculation was easy enough 
as the question involved was purely political. But the selection 
of the jury often demands a more subtle study of the human 

Prendre le maqitis. 

N 2 


Our readers may remember the case of Madame de Chicourt, 
the Toulon beauty, who with her lover, M. Fouroux, mayor of that 
town, appeared .before a jury of the department of the Var in 
January, 1891, on a charge of procuring abortion. Those who 
saw and heard her in Court, with her languid Creole speech, her 
feline attitudes and her exquisite gracefulness, will never forget 
this charming prisoner, whose guilt was so small and whose punish- 
ment was so severe. 

The bitterness of party disputes in the south of France is well 
known, and around the name of M. Fouroux, her accomplice, 
raged a terrific combat. As Fouroux was a radical, the Public 
Prosecutor challenged all the radicals ; the advocate for the defence 
retaliated by throwing out all the opportunists he possibly could. 
In the end, the jury contained no man of any known character, but 
consisted of twelve peasants of the mountains, ill-clothed, sour, 
ruined by the vine disease, content to put up at the small inns of 
the outskirts to save a little money. These men cared little about 
the political opinions of the chief prisoner, but they were exasper- 
ated by having to listen for three whole days to stories of trips to 
Paris, perfumery, ladies' toilettes, and elegant suppers ; and they 
convicted the graceful and coquettish beauty because, to their eyes, 
she represented luxury, ease, and pleasure, an insult to their daily 
growing wretchedness. 

" My child," said the grandmother of George Sand's Valentine, 
" take a lover of your own rank ! " 

" Prisoner at the bar," we should be disposed to say in our turn, 
" get yourself tried by jurymen of your own class ! " 

But we have found our way to the great hall of the Assize 
Court. A bell announces the entry of the jurymen, and here 
they are. 


It is now time to give a rough sketch of this Court of Assize 
for the department of the Seine, in which the fate of so many lives 
comes up for decision. 

At one end, on a dai's, stand the three judicial arm-chairs ; 
the advocate-general is on the left, and the registrar x on the 

1 Greffier. 



right. Then, facing one another, are two long galleries, filled with 
seats. On the side of the advocate-general, well placed both for 
seeing and hearing, is a bench for the twelve jurymen ; it is pro- 
longed so as to accommodate those jurymen who have not been 
called upon to serve, but who want to be present at the proceedings 
as spectators. 

Below the jury-box stands a plain desk for the usher. Opposite 
to this are two long enclosed spaces, the first for the prisoner, the 
second for the reporters. They are separated from one another 
by a movable partition, which allows the part reserved for the 
press to be increased or diminished, according to the number of 
prisoners in the dock. A strong light falls from the lofty win- 
dows in front, striking the prisoner full in the face, while the jury 
remain in the shade. Such is the rule observed in 
the building of law courts. Below the dock are the 


seats allotted to advocates, and, on the right, immediately beneath 
the registrar's desk, are a little table and two chairs for the parties 1 
to the prosecution, who, in accordance with tradition, are supposed 
to come and implore justice at the feet of the Judge. Right in 
front of the judicial dais is another table, long in shape, and scratched 
all over with marks of nails. It is the table for articles produced 
in evidence. 2 What countless vials of vitriol, revolvers and knives, 
blood-stained garments, from satin dresses to workmen's blouses 
and ladies' corsets, have been piled up in this Morgue for things 
inanimate ! What a history of human crime and human passion a 
collector of these articles could have written ! A few labels affixed 

1 La partie civile. 

2 Pieces a conviction. 


to the objects in this ghastly museum, a date, a name recalled, this 
would be enough and far more terrible than any lengthy narrative. 
In front of the table for articles produced in evidence is the 
bar, where the witness will come presently to raise his right hand 
towards Bonnat's magnificent picture of Christ. 

The Court have not yet entered, but the hall is already crowded. 
A few intruders are turned out of the reporters' box ; in the middle 
of the part railed off from the public, Leon, the apparitor of the 
Order of Advocates, scrutinises the advocates' benches, and gently 
ousts from them some profane person who will soon be brought 
before the bdtonnier, and not dismissed without a severe repri- 
mand for -illegally wearing the forensic gown. In the reserved 
inclosure, despite a recent circular,, may be seen dainty costumes 
and fashionable bonnets ; while tittering may be heard mingled 
with exclamations and little cries uttered by women who are being 
pinched. A little time ago was the heyday of reserved tickets ; 
large numbers were distributed to gay ladies ; and certain Court 
officials made great sums by selling them- 
In those days the Court looked like a theatre ; 
nothing was wanting, neither fans, opera- 
glasses, applause, trembling at the pathetic 
moment; and, during the adjournment I 
had almost said the entr'acte the cham- 
pagne corks popped gaily. 

Meanwhile, standing up at the back 
of the Court, packed one against the 
AN HABITUE other, like sardines in a box, crushed and 

(Sketch by p. Renouard.) flattened by the throng, may be seen the 
people who take their pleasure cheaply, the 

non-paying public ; an astonishing medley of colour, crumpled 
neckcloths and small caps, faded dresses and old jackets of 
which the original hues have quite disappeared. In the midst 
of the crowd may be seen, like a white post, the spotless cap of 
some confectioner's apprentice. The populace want their share 
of the fun, and push their way in by main force. It is not cards 
but blows that are exchanged between these impatient com- 
petitors. By dint of steady shoving, a young telegraph clerk 
has forced his way to the very front, and there he will remain, 
delighted if gasping, for the rest of the day. 

The crowd is sharply divided ; in the reserved seats, delicate 


laces ; in the back, blue handkerchiefs; there, the scent of helio- 
trope; here, the smell of sausage and garlic. But look at the faces 
and attitudes. Everywhere there is the same expression of eager, 
feverish curiosity, the same thirst for strong emotions, the same 
passion for this drama of real life. In capital convictions, when 
the president pronounces the word " death," the same thrill runs 
through all veins alike, and the same exclamation of horror 
escapes from every breast. The cry of awe- 
struck terror, which the hear- 
ing of a 

death sentence calls 
forth, may be heard uttered at the 
same pitch, and in the same tone, 
in the Court at Paris and in the Courts of little provincial towns 
in Flanders as well as in Gascony. The human voice, that 
marvellous instrument whose tones express the most minute dif- 
ferences of feeling, has here no variability, whether it be the liquid 
utterance of the Parisienne, the grating chuckle of the tatterde- 
malion, or the harsh accents of the peasant. 


But, hush, here comes the Court ! Every one cries " Sit down," 
and every one stands up to get a view ! Every eye is turned towards 
the little door by which the prisoner enters between his two guards. 
There are a few final expulsions from the reporters' box ; a lady, 
who offers the press-men to remain there to cut their pencils, finds 
no favour. A young barrister, with a military tuft, points out the 


witnesses to a well-dressed friend. Behind, on the left, the caps 
and flowing sleeves of probationers who have come late may be 
seen perched on the benches and ranged in rows along a dark 
passage ; some of them climb on to the stove or the window-sills, 
and watch for the moment when a fellow-student who has come 
in better time will leave a vacant place for them in the middle of 
the pretorium. 

At last silence is obtained ; the hubbub, passing through the 
whole descending gamut of sound, dwindles to a hum, and from a 
hum to a whisper, and the president now slowly utters the sacra- 
mental words, ' : The sitting is opened." A few questions are then 
put to the prisoner : his surname, Christian names, age, profession ; 
then the twelve jurymen rise, and each of them proceeds to take 
the customary oath : 

" You sivear and promise before God and man to examine with 
the most scrupulous attention into the charges that will be brought 

against N , not to betray the interests of the prisoner nor those of 

society which accuses him ; not to communicate with any one till after 
your verdict; to listen neither to hatred nor malice, fear nor affection, 
to make your decision after duly weighing tJie charges and the 
defence, according to your conscience and inmost conviction, with the 
impartiality and firmness becoming to an honest man of independent 

Each juryman raises his right hand and answers, " I swear 

A few years ago there was a kind of fancy among jurymen 
to refuse the oath because of the religious formula involved. Some 
worthy men, who were very indifferent in matters of faith, suddenly 
discovered conscientious scruples of which they had till then been 
quite unaware. The oath stuck in their throat. Some veteran of 
1848 had started this kind of protest against clericalism, and, as 
the juryman is by nature one of Panurge's sheep, 1 the noble army 
of " non-juring jurymen "grew rapidly. A few fines brought this 
little faction to reason. Jurymen learnt that it was silly to harass 
one's life or lose a summer holiday by so feeble a sacrifice to philo- 
sophy. Peace was restored ; the fashion has now passed away ; 
and nobody refuses any longer this little harmless ceremony, 

1 See Rabelais, Pantagruel, bk. iv. c. 8. Panurge, who is on board a ship carrying 
a flock of sheep, purchases one and throws it overboard. On this all the other sheep 
leap after their comrade and are drowned. 


although, as statistics show, there are as many free-thinking jury- 
men as there were before. 

After the oath, outward manifestations on the part of the jury 
are at an end. They will generally listen to the pleadings without 
a word, unless some prater bethinks him of putting a question, in 
which case all his colleagues will believe themselves bound to do 
likewise. But this is an exception ; and the jury-box will remain 
the most lifeless part of the Court, up to the moment of the 
verdict. It is now the president's turn to come on the scene. 


In the hieratic days of the magistracy, which are not so very 
long ago, the president of the Court of Assize was not a simple 
man ; he was a demi-god. Scarcely had he, a plain counsellor 
of the Court, been invested with these important functions 
than an aureole appeared round his brow. He no longer walked, 
he advanced ; he no longer spoke, he pronounced ; a kind of civil 
pontiff, he launched forth upon the vulgar, not the greater excom- 
munication, but the thunders of discretionary power. True, some 
of the old presidents were gallant men, like M. de Saintes, who 
said with a smile to the Countess de Tilly, charged with throwing 
vitriol at a dressmaker, her rival, " Stand up, prisoner at the bar ; 
for your ladyship knows that we are compelled to designate you 
by this term." But it also happened that the interrogatory was 
often reduced to a simple monologue, interrupted at long intervals 
by these two objurgations, " Prisoner, explain yourself," and the 
moment the prisoner opened his lips to answer, " Be silent ! " 

These were the halcyon days of that ineffable thing, the sum- 
ming-up ; in which the case for the prosecution was restated with 
such complacency, and the defence whittled away with the most 
utter disdain. The summing-up was abolished in 1880, when its 
abuses were exposed by Maitre Lachaud, owing to the extremes to 
which they had been pushed by Judge Bachelier, a past-master 
in the art, during the trial of Mdlle. Marie Biere. 

The majority of our readers are certain to remember this 
counsellor a la Louis XV., with his powdered wig, his bands that 
looked like a courtier's frill, and the little hands of which he took 
such exquisite care, dainty as those of a fashionable abbe of the old 
court. His summings-up were delightful, and in his flute-like 

1 86 


voice he would say the most terrible things with such perfect grace 
that, excepting the prisoner, every one was forced to smile. Of this 

time also was the old counsellor F (he is dead, trouble not his 

shade ! ) who only had three formulas for summing up the defence. 
It was " rather long," when the advocate was his friend ; " too long, 
as usual," when the advocate was unknown to him ; " as usual, too 
long and, moreover, badly put," when the advocate was a republican. 

Counsellor F was an Orleanist. 

The authors of this book, simple observers of the manners and 


customs of the law courts, wish to avoid the introduction of any 
political remark into these pages ; it is not for them to offer any 
opinion on the historical value of the change in the judicial 
service, which followed the decrees against the monastic corpora- 
tions ; but it must be said that, if it deprived the bench of some of 
its dignified attributes, prisoners in particular and the cause of 
justice in general have most decidedly gained by it. We do not 
say that all presidents of the Courts of Assize have become models 
of impartiality and sweet reasonableness ; but, excepting when 
politics intrude, a man is no longer " finished off; " he is tried ; 


I8 7 

and the brutality of the old-fashioned hanging judge has been 
superseded by a more serious desire to investigate facts and motives. 
During the last few years the psychological side of criminal trials 
has undergone a remarkable development, and among our presi- 
dents of assize are to be found thinkers and analysts of the first 

The ideal president ought to put all his logic and all his sub- 
tlety into the work of piercing the secrets of a tortuous mind : he 
should be able to unravel all the stratagems of woman, she being 
far better skilled than man in the art of self-defence ; and he should 
have the power of summing up a whole argument in three words. 
He should preside at a trial as if taking part in a conversation, 

Sketch by P. Renouard. 

without raising his voice, and without threatening ; but, when the 
male or female prisoner sits down after having been under exami- 
nation for a quarter of an hour, they should have been turned 
inside out, and the jury should be in possession of all the facts. 

M. Berard des Glajeux, to-day one of the presidents in the 
Court of Appeal at Paris, realises in more than one respect the type 
of a perfect president. Equally out of the common was President 
Cartier, who died a few years ago. The reader can recall him with 
his bright red face, his long whiskers nearly white, his nose like 
that of Punch, and his large eyes, beaming with a wondrous 
comicality. He succeeded by assuming an air of familiarity, of 
" good fellowship," we had almost said by blarney; a man besides of 
a tolerant spirit who did not expect his fellow-creatures to be saints. 



But the best thing he ever did was his examination, conducted 
with the most marvellous irony, of the abbe Roussel. The latter 
prosecuted his ward, Mdlle. Annette Harchoux, for forging his 
name ; a charge the young lady paid back on her trial by reproach- 
ing the poor abbe for certain undue lengths to which he had been 
wont to carry his former solicitude. 

These dialogues that take place at the assizes, when conducted 
by a master of the art, have a vividness that the theatre cannot give. 
There are in the former intonations, attitudes, retorts, shudders, 
that all the art of the most skilful dramatist is powerless to repro- 

By P. Renouard. ' 

duce upon the stage. A prisoner before his judges never expresses 
his feelings by those noisy manifestation cries, tears, exclamations 
with which actors in a play think themselves bound to accompany 
their protestations of innocence. The drama of an Assize Court is 
much more sober in its setting, but much more interesting than 
what is enacted on the stage, and nothing ever strikes the spectator 
as out of tune, for it is the actual expression of nature itself. 


By the side of the presiding judge may be seen the repre- 
sentative of the state, the Advocate-General ; " the advocate 


digger " as prisoners call him. In popular portraits he is repre- 
sented with short whiskers, thin lips, frowning brows, and a 
malevolent expression. He is not always like this, nor does he 
necessarily impress his points on the Court in tones of thunder, 
accompanied by furious gesticulation. Advocate-General Bernard, 
at present a counsellor of the Supreme Court, who prosecuted in 
the trials of Madame Cloyis Hugues, Pel, Marchandon, and so many 
other celebrated cases of the last few years, was on the contrary 
a most gentle speaker, so scrupulous and tender-hearted that some- 
times he seemed to be acting for the defence. He spoke to the jury 
in a tone of resigned melancholy, knowing perfectly well how to 
win them by means of some fellow-feeling, to which he would 
give expression for their behoof. M. Bernard's very moderation 
was the greatest danger the prisoner's advocate had to guard 

Advocate-General Sarrut, who was prose- 
cutor in the case of Prado, is a very different 
man. His style is terse, incisive, pitiless. 
Immovable as a statue, he weaves his argu- 
ments so closely that the prisoner will not 
find one single mesh left open for his escape. 
There is in him no trace of indignation or 
anger, but at the same time there is none 
of tenderness nor mercy; there is no touch 
of feminine nature about him, if we may 

not say nothing human ; above all, nothing M SARRUT , ADVOCATE- 
IS sacrificed to ornament or grace. Such is a GENERAL. 
speech for the prosecution by Advocate- 
General Sarrut. It is a sermon. Those who in the foggy light of an 
autumn day heard this gaunt, melancholy, hollow-cheeked man, 
with his straight hair, and red beard cut to a point in the Huguenot 
fashion of Charles IX., ask for the head of Prado, must have looked 
upon him with a kind of terror as an inquisitor of old arisen from 
the grave. 

Very different again is the Procureur-General, M. Quesnay de 
Beaurepaire : in the first place he is a man of letters, who loves 
form and grace of diction, with a subtle brain that disdains no 
refinement of sentiment. At the bar of the Assize Court, the 
author of Le Forestier shows his turn for descriptions, picturesque 
to the verge of being overdone, but painted with the richest 


colouring and the most powerful of brushes. He has a lazy, 
drawling accent ; he wears his cap like a student, at the back of 
his head ; in his gait there is something uncertain and irresolute. 
The man in fact, with his rough features, his prominent bones, his 
mocking and sarcastic eye, gives rather the impression of a Breton 
peasant than that of a Parisian Procureur-General. But the altera- 
tion in him when he begins to address the Court is astonishing. 
After five minutes the spectators cease to think about his walk or 
his accent. An actor of incomparable skill, a speaker and thinker 
of unquestionable power, a remarkable man, in fact, stands before 
you. Under his searching and crushing analysis the prisoner 
has no secrets. The Procureur-General attacks him in front 
directly, describing him by a gesture, piercing his very soul with a 
glance, weaving round him a net of suggestive phrases, while ever 
and anon he makes him start by some sudden and unexpected 
apostrophe. " I know your name," said M. Quesnay de Beaure- 
paire to the mysterious Campi, " I am going to tell it you !...." 
And he seemed as if about to fall upon him, his finger stretched 
out as if pointing at the corpse. The prisoner waited all trembling 
while his adversary lengthened out his words, and prolonged his 
silence till the culprit began to think his secret known, and his real 
name on the point of being cast in his teeth. Then, with a dis- 
dainful smile, satisfied with the effect produced, M. de Beaurepaire 
finished his sentence in a tone of contemptuous irony : " I know 
your name, and I am going to tell it you ; you are the murderer of 
the Rue du Regard ! " 

Eight years after the trial of Campi, M. de Beaurepaire crowned 
his career by his celebrated speech before the High Court of Jus- 
tice against General Boulanger, and by the oration he delivered in 
the Gouffe case. On the latter occasion he showed much good 
sense and sound judgment in opposing that love for the marvellous 
which has reappeared in our day under the scientific name of 
hypnotism. In this combat the school of Nancy received a fatal 


We will now take a look round on the other side of the bar. 
Here are the advocates. Some of them are veterans, old stagers 
at the Court of Assize, who for forty years have sung the same old 

By P. Renouard. 



song in the same confident tone. Some are young fellows, striplings 
fresh from the conference, nervous as at a first assignation, as fas- 
cinated by time-worn arguments as a rhetorician by the charms 
of some ripe beauty. There are some of them whose reputation 
is growing, whose career the press follows with interest, whose por- 
traits will perhaps find a place in a future edition of this work. 

At the present time the Parisian criminal bar is ruled by three 
great names, Lachaud, Maitre Demange, and Maitre Albert Danet. 
We say Lachaud, because he is a possession for ail time. If 
the hero is dead, his 
memory and his tra- 
dition have survived 
him. Beethoven was 
not a musician, but 
music itself ; so La- 
chaud was not a de- 
fender, he was the 
defender of accused 
persons. An orator, 
if you like, and a 
great orator, skilled 
in all vocal har- 
monies, in all modu- 
lations of tone, with 
ten, nay twenty dif- 
ferent voices at his 
command, according 
as he was called up- 


on to convince or to 

persuade, to touch or to terrify ; but, before all, he was a tacti- 
cian of the very highest rank, and a psychologist by whose side 
specialists of that name were mere stammering babes. Lachaud 
had often won a case before he began his speech ; he had won it 
by some adroit question addressed to the chief witness, by some 
sagacious preparation of his client, by a smile or a sarcastic inter- 
jection, with which he underscored the feeble arguments in the 
prosecutor's address. His knowledge of a jury was extraordinary. 
Lachaud would make twelve separate speeches if he had to deal 
with twelve jurymen of different conditions. He knew well that a 
consideration which moved a draper would make no impression on 



a mining engineer. With a marvellous intuition, he would find his 
way into every man's heart, executing variations on the same 
theme with incomparable vivacity, speaking to each juryman in 
turn, fixing him with an eye which saw everything, never letting 
him go till he was thoroughly convinced. He had an exquisite 
wit and a kindly and indulgent soul. He was a good man to the 
poor, he loved his art more than anything, he was the protector, 
the friend of all those with power to think ; and, in troublous 
times, he was the disinterested and generous defender of free- 
dom of opinion. Like Lente, that other giant, he came, so to 
speak, to die at the bar, already overcome by the numbness of 
approaching death, but rousing himself to utter one last touching 
address before judges whom his darkened eyes could no longer dis- 
tinguish. And he fell into the eternal sleep with his face turned to 
that exquisite portrait of Madame Lafarge a youthful figure with 
soft hair, large lustrous eyes, and pale complexion, showing a white 
rose in her bosom a portrait which, painted for his chambers in 
the Rue Bonaparte by Madame O'Connell, recalled to him the first 
triumph of his youthful years. 

His successor, Maitre Demange, is, above all, an orator. He 
has the same variety of gesture as Lachaud, the same enthusiasm 
and the same wealth of expression. His voice is rich and ringing ; 
his rhetoric is less persuasive than Lachaud's, but perhaps more 
moving. He has two favourite notes, one warlike as a clarion, 
the other melodious and soothing, and there is occasionally too 
quick a change from one to the other. For the rest, Maitre 
Demange has all the external charm of Lachaud, an honest, 
sympathetic face, bordered with whiskers that enjoy perpetual 
youth, and a magnificent breadth of chest. Since the case of 
Prince Pierre Bonaparte, which established his reputation, and 
that of Dr. Garrigue, for whom he obtained an acquittal at 
Perigueux on a charge of poisoning his father, Maitre Demange 
has been engaged in nearly all the great trials of recent times. He 
appeared for Dr. Castelnau, for Fenayrcu at Versailles, for Madame 
Achet at Moulins, without speaking of sensational assize cases, 
like that of Pranzini at Paris. 

By the side of Maitre Demange stands Maitre Albert Danet, 
honeyed, persuasive, irresistible, to whom a jury can refuse nothing. 
If he failed in the case of Marchandon, it was because this wretch 
was impossible of defence ; but he obtained an acquittal for Lucien 



Fenayrou, and he had the skill to persuade M. Grevy that Aba die, 
the ferocious criminal for whom he appeared ten years ago, could 
be permitted to live, without risk to society. 

raising the war-cry for their 


In Lachaud, Demange, and Albert Danet we have seen three 
different types of counsel for the defence. Time was when it was 
hard to find a leading man among counsel for the prosecution, or 
advocates who support the indictment, and serve as auxiliaries 
to the Public Prosecutor. Accustomed to plead for the acquittal 
of prisoners, the great advocates of the assizes have no prac- 
tice in sounding the charge or 

o o 

condemnation. These two intel- 
lectual feats are impossible to one 
and the same mind. This year 
an ideal prosecuting counsel has 
at last appeared in Maitre 
Waldeck - Rousseau, an ex- 
minister who has quitted the 
great things of the political 
world, and is on the way to take 
the first position among advo- 
cates retained in large cases at 
the law courts. We have seen 
Maitre Waldeck-Rousseau mea- 
sure himself with Maitre Demange 
in the mysterious Chantelle case ; 
the former demanding justice in 
the name of the murdered notary's 

heirs, the latter defending Madame Achet. Tall, phlegmatic, 
rather English in his manner, perfectly self-possessed, speak- 
ing with unimpeachable authority, he dissects a criminal case 
as if he were analysing an account ; that is, so far as clearness is 
concerned; but, that elegance may not be lacking, he sets forth his 
facts with a cold irony and -humour positively delicious. Maitre 
Waldeck-Rousseau is the ally whom the Public Prosecutor has long 
been dreaming of, I had almost said dreading ; for when a man of 
this stamp has thrown a strong light on a case, nothing more 
remains to be said by others. 

O 2 





We have delineated the principal actors in the drama : the 
presiding judge, the jury, the public prosecutor, the advocate ; and 
we have sketched the impressionable and noisy crowd of spectators. 
It would be beyond the scope of this volume to do more than out- 
line the secondary characters : 

The witness for the prosecution ; important, listened to, con- 
gratulated. The witness for the defence; hesitating, awkward, 
often snubbed and reprimanded by the presiding judge. The 
accountant not gifted with grace of style, but terribly conscientious. 
The expert in handwriting, "this character from farcical comedy" 
as Georges Laguerre so neatly called him, grave, solemn as an 

undertaker, and wearing a look that 
sends the irreverent reporters on their 
bench into a fit of laughter. Look at 
Doctor Brouardel, a marvel of precision 
and clearness, expounding his medical 
science so simply and gracefully as to 
be within the comprehension of his 
most ignorant hearer. Look at Doctor 
Motet, the great authority on insanity^ 
with his choice and elegant phraseology, 
his mental pictures beautifully sketched 
in a few clever strokes, his analysis of 
mental states, which the psychologists 
already mentioned ought to come and 
hear with the humility of school boys. 

Look at the usher, stout, short of breath, full of business, pushing 
through the crowd, in perpetual search of his witnesses who have 
run off to get a drink. Then, modest, obliging, wholly unbiased 
and always able to foretell the verdict, comes the clerk of the Court* 
M. Wiljnes ; he has succeeded the great Commerson, who now 
lives in retirement at Versailles, after half a century of official life, 
hale as at thirty, always jovial and good-tempered, the great 
Commerson, whose strong sense, as Lachaud wittily said, " survived 
fifty years of summings-up," and yet there is still some one whom 
we have forgotten. Who is it ? The prisoner. 





We need not linger over unimportant cases of injury to the 
person or commonplace infanticides. It is true that every case at 
the assizes, however ordinary its circumstances, could in itself 
furnish matter for study and observation. There 
is much that is curious in the 
physiognomy of the little clerk 
driven to embezzlement by betting 
on horse-races. Curious too that 
of the waif of society who after 
twenty years of unsettled exist- 
ence became a thief one night out 
of hunger. There is something 
horrible in this father of a family who has satis- 
fied a brutal passion on the person of his own daughter. It is very 
interesting to watch this Gobseck, extradited from Belgium, who 
holds forth on finance with an assurance that shows complete 
contempt for his judges. And heartrending 
it is to hear this poor girl, 
dismissed from her situation 
because she was about to 
become a mother, who in an 
hour of desperation has left 
the child of ignorance and 
misery to perish. Let us touch 
lightly on politics, which, for ten years, have 
given but little employment to the Courts of 

Assize, thanks to the liberal spirit of the present laws, and perhaps 
also to the just mistrust in which juries are held by the powers 
that be. 


To find a striking political trial, we must go back to the action 
brought in 1881 against M. Henri Rochefort by Consul Roustan, 
after the expedition to Tunis. Maitre Gatineau, a deputy for the 
department of Eure-et-Loir, was charged with the defence of the 
editor of 'Ch.o.Intransigeant. The mere name of Gatineau is enough 



to produce a smile and banish dulness. With his hair dyed green, 
his gold-rimmed glasses, his ruddy face, and his eyes that sparkled 
with bucolic archness, Gatineau, under this Rabelaisian exterior, was 
a stout fighter and a formidable opponent. Sharp as a needle, he 
demolished the most pompous arguments of the public prosecutor 
by some stroke of irony delivered with an assumed rustic accent. 
This prosecution, entered upon with such solemnity, produced no- 
thing but endless laughter. M. Henri Rochefort and his counsel told 
the jury anecdotes of Moorish life and stories about the Kroumirs, 
and the jurymen, after spending a whole day in danger of splitting 
their sides, forgot all about the facts of the case, and gave a verdict 
for the newspaper with thanks, possibly not even thinking that 
they had at the same time passed censure on 

one of the most important epi- 
sodes in contemporary history. 

Since that date, except the trial 

of General Boulanger, which did 

not take place in the law courts, 

but before the Senate, we cannot 

mention any political case which 

has caused a sensation. 

From time to time some ob- 
scure anarchist is brought before the Court of 
Assize for having distributed in barracks papers calling on the 
troops to mutiny in case of any disturbance. He has refused 
the aid of an advocate ; but a comrade has asked leave to defend 
him, and for two or three hours, not without a certain vigour that 
occasionally impresses the hearers, the most furious revolutionary 
demands will be hurled in the faces of a middle-class jury. In 
the end, there will be a verdict without extenuating circumstances> 
a sentence of two years' imprisonment, and a fierce cry of " Anarchy 
for ever ! " taken up in chorus by the prisoner's friends, who crowd 
the body of the Court. Thus we see that at the Court of Assize 
politics form only an interlude ; let us return to its regular clients. 


First of all come the juvenile criminals, whose numbers have 
increased terribly in these last few years. Gilles and Abadie, those 
two ill-favoured street Arabs who shed so much blood in the 



suburbs of Paris ten or twelve years ago, were little more than 
sixteen. Gamahut, the murderer of Madame Ballerich, was leader 
of a band whose oldest member was twenty. Twenty was the 


age of Corporal Geomay, executed in 1890 for the murder of a 
spirit-dealer on the Boulevard St. Germain ; and of the same age 
were Mecrant and Catelain, the accomplices of 
Sellier and Allorto, in the murder at 
Auteuil. Kaps, when he strangled an 
old man named Vingard after a drink- 
ing bout, was only fourteen. A sort of 
fatality seems year by year to lower 
the age of the youngest murderer, 
" Nonsense," say these boy criminals ; 
"I am too young for the mowing 
.. ''- . machine," and, through a dream, they 

seem to see the mirage of New Caledonia. The 
dangerous clemency of M. Grevy kept them confident for a long 
time, and, in spite of the necessary reaction which has since taken 
place, the legend still survives in the world of rogues and bullies 
who are the plague of Paris. 




No less than ten of these can be counted during the last five or 
six years, although it is perhaps improper to place an assassin like 
Marchandon, or a murderer of fallen women like Pranzini, on the 
same level with that master in crime, the mysterious Prado ; a man 
of culture and of biting wit, whose appearance betokened ancient 
breeding, refined education, and a past crowded with adventure, 
travel, and brigandage. Never will those who beheld him forget 

that man, who sat in the dock as if 
at home, directed the whole proceed- 
ings, and pursued with reproaches 
and satire his two mistresses, the 
fair - haired Eugenie Forestier and 
the bright and sparkling little woman 
from Bordeaux who called herself 
Mauricette Couronneau. 

Another hero of crime also was 
that extraordinary creature Campi. 
He had murdered in the Rue du 
Regard an old gentleman, M. Ducros 
de Sixt, who lived a very retired life, 
completely given up to good works. 
" Your name ? " " Campi." " Your 
age ? " " Thirty-three.'' " Your pro- 
fession ? " " None." " Your home ? " 
" None." The legal chronicler will 
always have before him the man whose 
very memory is a terror. In his bold 
and resolute glance could be read an 
expression of savage hate against 

society. The presiding judge, M. Berard des Glajeux, with all his 
art, could not extract from Campi the secret of his crime. Campi 
was not a thief ; he had killed M. Ducros de Sixt to satisfy a feeling 
of revenge. What was it ? He never told, and he died nameless, 
casting a look of pity and disdain at the executioner. Of his own 
accord he threw himself on the fatal plank, shrugging his shoulders 
and muttering, " It is only this ! " In our memories of the Palace 
there still arises the face of the alchemist Pel, a watchmaker at 
Montreuil, accused of many poisonings, a would-be scientist who 



2O I 

had tried experiments with arsenic in animti vili, doubtless think- 
ing that the life of a few old female servants was of no use to the 
world. With his great sunken eyes, his enormous spectacles, his 

ghastly paleness, and his straggling beard of uncertain colour, this 
solemn, silent man recalled some legend from the middle ages. 

o o * 

and looked as if he had just stepped out of the dungeons of some 
feudal castle. 


Of the three great dramas of passion which during the last ten 
years have excited public opinion, and provided material for the 
novel and the theatre, two had their catastrophe outside Paris. 
Henri Chambige was tried at Constantine ; the brothers Peltzer were 
tried at Brussels. Two marvellous cases, almost perfect, we might 
well say, if it were not a blasphemy in such a connection. In the 
Chambige case, a young man of high education, a dainty writer, a 
sentimental delineator of the first rank, was brought little by little, 
through self-analysis and morbid study of his own feelings, to desire 
death in company with a yung girl of irreproachable character, 
without thinking, unhappy creature, of the orphans that this imi- 
tation of Werther would leave behind. In the Peltzer case, the 
death of the husband, an advocate named Bernays, was decided 
upon and arranged by the wife's lover ; the crime is committed by 
deputy at Brussels, while the principal criminal, Armand Peltzer, 


shows himself at Antwerp ; the deed is due to gratitude, being 
undertaken by a brother whom Armand had formerly saved from 
bankruptcy, and who now comes back from America with made- 
up face, disguised, his skin stained with a composition of bistre and 
amber which gives him the appearance of a South American, so 
unrecognisable that he can present himself to Bernays, his former 
friend, as the agent of an Australian company, and strike him down 
in perfect safety, so as to set free the woman whom his brother 
coveted. But these two cases, celebrated as they are, lie beyond 
our scope. At Paris, the only great drama of human passion de- 
manding our attention is the Fenayrou case. This, moreover, was 
heard at Versailles in the first place, and only sent before a Paris- 
ian jury after the first decision had been quashed. The lying in 
wait in the little house at Pecq, the lover decoyed by the wife into 
the husband's power, struck down without pity, the body forced 
into a piece of lead piping and thrown into the Seine ; the eco- 
nomy of Madame Fenayrou, a little tradesman's wife with an air 
of respectability, who, in going from Paris to Pecq, took a return 
ticket for herself and a single one for Aubert, because Aubert was 
not to return all the dark story is still present to the minds of 
our readers, and a mere mention of its name is enough to revive 
the drama in all its details. At the time of the trial public 
opinion was divided between two opposing theories. Some de- 
clared that the husband had avenged himself ; others that he had 
killed Aubert because this young man had discovered some terrible 
secret, the secret of an abortion, perhaps a poisoning. The presi- 
dent, Berard des Glajeux, alone understood that it was the woman 
who had taken revenge. " This is a woman's crime," said he to 
Gabrielle. Fenayrou, in his rather cracked but incisive voice; 
" Aubert had ceased to love you, he was going to be married, you 
had chosen the propitious moment for throwing yourself at your 
husband's feet, knowing that he would forgive you, and that he 
would satiate your hatred while believing that he was only carrying 
out his own revenge." This was the truth of the matter. Of the 
actors in the drama the husband died in New Caledonia; the 
wife, sentenced to perpetual confinement, ever silent and impene- 
trable, continues at Clairvaux to drag out the existence of a 
prisoner for life. 

Their story has not taken us long ; but this study of the Court 


of Assize and its passion dramas would not be complete without a 
few words on the use of vitriol and the revolver. 

The reign of vitriol was inaugurated in 1877 by a gay lady, 
styled Madame de la Tour in the roll of honour of that profession, 
but in reality named Widow Gras. Old age was close upon her, 
her hair was already white, and she was on the point of being 
abandoned by a rich young lover, who was going to be married. 
She now conceived the infernal plan of making him unfit for mar- 
riage by disfigurement, in which event she intended to attach 
herself to her victim for life by assuming the part of a sister of 
mercy. The most interesting character in this intricate drama was 
a workman, the metal-worker Gaudry, a playmate of the Widow 
Gras when she was only a house-porter's little girl, and her con- 
stant lover afterwards, whose fondness for 
her had been increased by her success, her 
elegance, and the high rank of her lovers. 
Widow Gras called Gaudry to her assist- 
ance, coaxed him, promised to marry him 

as soon as M. de R , on whom she 

wished to wreak vengeance, said she, had 
been " vitriolised," and she put into his 
hands the bottle of sulphuric acid. She 
was condemned to fifteen years' penal 
servitude, and to-day she keeps a restaurant 


near the Rue de Maubeuge. From the 

Sketch by P. Renouard. 

date of her crime vitriol became the chosen 

weapon of deserted milliners, deceived wives, and sometimes of 
neglected fancy men. A few severe verdicts have put an end to 
the favour it enjoyed for some two years. 

The most celebrated heroine of the revolver was Marie Biere, 
the sentimental singer, who, in 1880, shot her old lover, a well- 
known clubman, on the Place de 1'Opera. She was rather pretty, 
spoke in the sweetest of tones, and no woman ever born knew 
so well what attitude to assume before her judges. Lachaud got 
her acquitted amid a scene of indescribable enthusiasm. Marie 
Biere subsequently married in Roumania; but the school she founded 
has ever since enjoyed great prosperity. The revolver still con- 
tinues to be the ultima ratio with nervous people of both sexes. 



Ten times, perhaps twenty times a year, and at Paris oftener 
than elsewhere, the regular frequenter of the Court will be present 
at a sight like this. ^ A little milliner or shop-girl is seated in the 
dock, sobbing, with her face thickly veiled, half fainting against the 
knees of the municipal guard who supports her gallantly. The 
public prosecutor, as a matter of form, has asked for a conviction 
which he does not expect, for juries can never bring themselves to 
send a pretty woman into solitary confinement for five years, and 
five years is the minimum sentence allowed by law. The lover, who 
appears in a more or less damaged condition at the bar, has been 
properly mauled, and the advocate for the defence has overwhelmed 
him with a storm of invective. The speeches come to an end, and 
the jury have retired to deliberate on their verdict. Then the ex- 
cited and feverish Court becomes literally stifling. People have 
crept along all the corridors and slipped in at all the doors, the 
ladies have invaded the front seats, and their coloured dresses 
stand out in bright relief against the black gowns worn by the 

Certain persons absolutely unconnected with the bench, though 
some of them have possibly appeared as defendants in the Eighth 
Chamber, have majestically taken up a position behind the presi- 
dent's chair. Close to the usher's little desk may be seen a regular 
frequenter of the Court of Assize, an old gentleman, with white 
whiskers, \vho has never missed a trial for twenty years ; he 
has been dubbed " the thirteenth juryman," and may be heard 
declaring that the jury will not deliberate for more than ten 

And, in fact, a bell placed over the door of the jury-room rings 
twice, with two sharp tinkles, which are forthwith repeated by a 
bell placed over the main entrance to the Court. The jury are 
returning, most of them well pleased and radiant ; one or two only 
look a little doubtful and ask one another " what the newspapers 
will say about it." Slowly they regain their seats, while the 
judges, informed of their return, come back into Court by the little 
door opposite. " Sit down ! sit down ! " is the cry on all sides. The 


usher calls out " Silence ! " till he is hoarse, and the guards exert 
themselves to make ladies who have mounted on the benches get 
down again. At last the murmur dies away, and the president says 
in emphatic tones, " Whatever the verdict of the jury may be, I 
must insist on the public keeping strict silence. I shall not hesitate 
to have any one who presumes to applaud brought up before the 
Court." Then courteously turning to the right, he proceeds,. 
" Mr. Foreman, be so good as to acquaint the Court with the result 
of your deliberations." 

With his right hand on his heart, trembling slightly, and his 
voice a little quavering, the foreman of the jury begins to read, 
sheltering himself behind the large sheet of white paper which 
shakes in his hand. " On my honour and my conscience, before 
God and before man, the verdict of the jury is Not guilty'' It is 
an acquittal ! 

" Bring in the prisoner again," orders the president. All eyes 
are turned towards the little door which gives access to the dock ;. 
fresh cries of " Sit down ! " arise, men struggle for a sight of the 
prisoner, and the president raps on his desk with his paper knife : 
" Clerk of the Court, acquaint the prisoner with the verdict." " The 
jury have found a verdict of Not guilty," says the clerk in a clear 
voice, while the prisoner, with tearful eyes, leans forward to grasp 
her advocate's hand. The president then pronounces the acquittal 
in form. "We, president of the Court of Assize, in virtue of the 
powers with which we are invested by the law, having received the 
verdict of the jury to the effect that the prisoner at the bar is not 
guilty of the acts imputed to her, do now declare her acquitted of 
the charge laid against her ; and we order that she be forthwith 
released, if she be not required on another charge." 

Then there bursts forth a storm not of enthusiasm, but of 
frenzy. Women rush towards the dock, cheering, crying " Bravo," 
trying their utmost to attract the heroine's attention. . . . 
Those farthest off wave their handkerchiefs, probationers in their 
excitement throw their caps in the air ; others, more bitter, remark 
" that if the prisoner has got off it is not her counsel's fault ; " the 
reporters, pressed for time, jump over the barriers and try to reach 
the nearest exit as quickly as possible. . . . Meanwhile, at the 
back of the Court, the crowd, like the chorus of a Greek play, takes 
up the dainty cries of the ladies in front till they swell into a 



mighty rpar. The latter, faithful to the freemasonry of the sex 
celebrate their own victory in the triumph of another woman. 
The former, the working women in white caps, cheer furiously, 
till the guard clears the Court, the woman of the people who has 
had revenge on a gentleman ! . . . 



PARIS escapes a scandal which disgraces most of the provincial 
Assize Courts. It never sees the public removal of a prisoner to gaol 
after conviction accompanied by the coarse jeers of an inquisitive 
crowd. The Palace of Justice at Paris, in fact, provides lodgings 
for its criminals. They are kept in one of its outlying buildings, 
to wit, the Conciergerie prison, whence the guards bring them 
straight into Court for trial by an inside staircase. Why, it may be 
asked, the name "Conciergerie"? Possibly, says M. Pottet in his 
book, because the existing prison, a barrack under the old kings of 
France, was inhabited by a captain who bore the title of " Comte 
des Cierges," or " Concierge," a person in the enjoyment of high 
prerogatives, and very nearly as powerful as our contemporary 
concierges or house-porters. 

Before 1826 the entrance to this prison was in the Cour 
d'Honneur, better known as the Cour de Mai, to the right and at 
the foot of the grand staircase. The wicket-gate with its ironwork 
grating which gave access to the prison still exists ; it now forms 
part of the Police Court buildings. Through this gate the great 
men of the Revolution and the victims of the Terror passed on 
their way to the tumbril which was to bear them to the guillotine. 

This entrance to the Conciergerie was walled up in 1826. But 
in walling it up the architect forgot that the prison kitchens were 
situated on the other side of the wicket. The result is that at the 
present time the prison cooks have to tramp right round the Palace 
of Justice with a complicated apparatus of straps and buckets in 
order to bring the prisoners their porridge. Always practical, these 


architects ! In order to make up for the closed gate on the Quai 
de 1'Horloge, a new gate was then built between the two broad 
towers, the Tour Cesar and the Tour d' Argent. Later on, in 1864, 
this new gate was walled up in its turn ; and on the same quay, to 
the right and not far from the Tour Cesar, a new gate was opened 
through which at present entrance may be obtained to the ancient 
prison. It was then that the Conciergerie was turned into a place 
of solitary confinement. For this purpose extensive works were 
carried out, the chief result of which was seen in the destruction of 
the ancient halls and dungeons in which so many historic characters 
have been imprisoned. 

At the present day the Conciergerie may, for the purposes of a 
visit, be divided into two parts : the historical part, void of 
inhabitants but full of associations; and the part now used for 
solitary confinement. The first portion may be visited on Thurs- 
days by special permission of the Prefect of Police. Let us enter. 
We pass through a heavy gate provided with an enormous lock,, 
in which the warder's key sounds like an iron jaw breaking a 
stone. We then cross a little court, turn to the right, and there,, 
before us, stands the pointed wicket-gate with the iron grating, 
above which may be read the words, Maison de Justice. 

We go down a little stone staircase, and find ourselves in the 
old Salle des Gardes. It has been deprived of its ante-rcom and 
office, of its partitions and compartments, the sole remaining portion 
of the ancient decoration being its broad pillars, with capitals carved 
in a somewhat irreverent way ; one of them representing with 
realistic fidelity a critical love passage between Abelard and 
Heloi'se. In the embrasure of the window is a bench for the 
women to sit on who bring prisoners a dinner from outside. 

In front of us is another wicket-gate with a peephole. This 
is the main entrance to the part used for the confinement of 
prisoners. A slight turn to the right brings us to a double stair- 
case of stone with iron bannisters. That on the left hand leads to 
the hall of the Tour d'Argent, which, it is said, was once occupied 
by Queen Blanche and formed the prison of Damiens. The young 
Duke of Orleans was shut up there in 1889 before being taken to 
Clairvaux. That on the right leads to the hall of the Tour Cesar, 
where Prince Pierre Bonaparte was imprisoned after the murder 
of Victor Noir in 1870 and Prince Napoleon after his manifesto 
of 1883. 


21 I 

The hall of the Tour Cesar is now used as a private room by 
the governor of the Conciergerie. On the story below is the 
chamber once occupied by Ravaillac and Lacenaire. 

The space beneath the Tour d'Argent contains the advocates' 
common room ; and on the floor above is the private room where 
the presidents of the Assize Court come at the beginning of every 
session to examine prisoners. 

Let us retrace our steps, recross the Salle des Gardes and look 
before us. In front we perceive a lofty gate of strong ironwork 
which leads into the dark gallery 
called the Rue de Paris. On the 
right is a little door, now walled 
up on the inside, from which 
there used to be a staircase 
leading to the Revolutionary 
Court. This tribunal was held 
in the room above, now occupied 
by the First Chamber of the 
Civil Court. 1 On the left is 
the hall of Saint Louis. Ad- 
mission to this can only be 
obtained by special permission, 
but a view can be had of 
the interior through a grating 
by standing up on a stool in 
the Rue de Paris. It lies im- 
mediately below the Salle des 

The Rue de Paris is lighted 
by gas, even in the daytime. At 
the extreme end are new folding 
doors, giving admission to what 

remains of the old Conciergerie. The porter makes his keys grate 
in the locks, the doors open, and the visitor finds himself in an ugly, 
dark, white-washed passage, now divided into two parts. Here, in 
days gone by, were dungeons, as celebrated as those of the Bastille, 
with doors fast closed by thick bars and heavy bolts. These dungeons 

1 Established, for the trial of state- conspirators, March 10, 1793. Its powers were 
largely increased by Robespierre on June 10, 1794. It declined in importance after 
Robespierre's fall, July 27, 1794; and was suppressed May 31, 1795. 

P 2 


Froai an old engraving. 


were occupied by Danton, Camille Desmoulins, General Hoche 
Vergniaud and the young deputies of the Gironde, Marat, Couthon,. 
Saint Just, the German Adam Lux, "who died from the last glance 
of Charlotte Corday," Heberr, Chaumette, and many other celebri- 
ties of the great Revolution. They, however, exist no longer ; the 
works rendered necessary by the new prison installation have swept 
away everything, even the subterranean dungeons, not unknown to- 
politicians and journalists of the First Empire, of the Restoration,. 
of the July Monarchy, and of the Coup d'tat of December 2nd. 

The corridor in which we now stand is furnished, on the left, with 
new iron gratings of immense size. Behind it are the apartments 
belonging to the old office of the prison and an exit, now walled up, 
to the Cour de Mai. In front of us, through the barred windows 
which give a dim light to the corridor, can be seen the women's 
quarter and the cells which were tenanted by Madame Elisabeth,. 
Charlotte Corday, and others. Under the July Monarchy, these 
different cells had for tenants well-known regicides and political 
prisoners : Fieschi, Alibaud, Prince Louis Napoleon, the Due de 
Persigny, Doctor Conneau, &c. 


At the end of the corridor and on the right, facing a new door 
which leads to the modern prison, is the famous dungeon of Queen 
Marie Antoinette. It communicates with the cell of Robespierre, 
the latter leading to the hall of the Girondins. All the other dun- 
geons occupied by celebrated prisoners of the Revolution, and 
before them by great historical characters, have disappeared. But 
for a long time past, since the Restoration in fact, the dungeon of 
Marie Antoinette has itself been deprived of its prison attributes 
and turned into a chapel. Dr. Veron, in his Memoires d'un Bour- 
geois de Paris, gives an amusing account of this change. In 1812^ 
M. Decazes, then a counsellor of the Imperial Court at Paris, paid 
a visit to the Conciergerie as president of the Court of Assize. 
While walking through the long corridors, he took a fancy to enter 
the dungeon of Marie Antoinette. He there surprised one of the 
junior warders engaged in a love idyll with a female prisoner with 
whom he had made an assignation. 

M. Decazes forthwith set to work to try and get this dungeon 
turned into a chapel. He drew up a report on the subject, which 


was approved by the Supreme Court at Paris, but Napoleon's 
Minister of Justice refused his sanction, and the transformation 
only took place when the Due Decazes became Louis XVIII.'s 
minister, in 1816. 

In 1793 there was no communication between the queen's 
dungeon and the little cell to which Robespierre was carried later on. 
The communicating door was walled up, like that which connected 
Robespierre's cell with the prison of the Girondins. The bed of 
Marie Antoinette was most probably placed against the door of 
communication. On the other side, in front, was the guard-room, 
through which visitors had to pass in order to enter the queen's 
dungeon. The door of communication has been again walled up, 
as can be ascertained by pushing aside a panel on which is painted 
a picture, unsigned, representing the queen taking the sacrament. 
Marie Antoinette is accompanied by two gendarmes, by a per- 
son said to be M. Magnin, and a lady who perhaps is intended for 
Mdlle. Fouche. This picture has a companion piece, representing 
the removal of Marie Antoinette from the Temple Prison to the Con- 
ciergerie. On the whole they are second-rate productions, whether 
by Drolling, as some say, or by Menjana, according to the opinion 
of others. 

Of the articles used by the queen, there only now remain the 
little lamp hanging in the alcove and the crucifix that may be seen 
on the altar. As to the arm-chair in which Marie Antoinette used 
to sit, a former governor of the Conciergerie was obliged to have it 
removed to his office in order to save it from the horde of tourists 
of every nation, each of whom tried to carry off a memento in the 
shape of a nail, a tassel, or a piece of the woodwork. The large 
window, by which the altar stands, is fitted up with panes in stained 
glass of a most execrable style. " Turkish coffee-house windows " 
Victor Hugo called them. Above the altar is a Latin inscription due 
to Louis XVI 1 1., and below this is a marble slab bearing an extract 
from the will of Marie Antoinette, quite illegible at the present day. 

The dungeon of Robespierre, which stands close to that of the 
queen, is a very small apartment with white-washed walls and a 
window of blue and yellow panes, the bars of which have disap- 
peared. At the back is a picture, possibly by Drolling, unless it be 
by Menjana, representing Marie Antoinette in her cell. She has a 
black veil on her head, and lies stretched on a truckle bed, close to 
the screen which separates her from the prying eyes of her warders. 



Opening out from and on a level with tho dungeon of Robes- 
pierre, is the great hall which served as a prison for priests and 
royalists during the Terror. Here, also, the Girondins passed their 
last night. In modern times it has been turned into the chapel of 
the Conciergerie. At about the height of the organ, the visitor 
will remark galleries fenced in with iron bars, which have a curious 
resemblance to the place in a bear-pit where the beasts are shut 
up when the keeper is about to clean their den. 

The little door on the left opens on to the court where the 
September massacres took place. The Girondins passed through 
it on their way to the scaffold. In this celebrated hall Vergniaud 
and his friends took their last meal in the presence of the corpse 
of Valaze, after their condemnation to death, on the night of 
October 29th, 1793. There is something curious in this little court 
with its monastic aspect, its white-washed walls, its stone table 
and its fountain. Down to 1887 it was tenanted by cabmen sen- 
tenced to twenty-four hours' detention. They are now sent to- 
the Petite Roquette, and the court serves as an exercise ground 
for young girls under sixteen imprisoned for various reasons. 
They make a pretty picture as they walk up and down this 
gloomy court, clad in heavy grey dresses and grey capes ; they 
have smiling faces in spite of the barred windows and the grim iron 
gate, in height equalling the wall which shuts them in ; and their 
careless, gay air shows no anticipation of the future which awaits 

The three gates at the end of the chapel are now walled up, as 
well as the gate by which the Girondins returned from the Revo- 
lutionary Court singing the Marseillaise. 


We have just seen the historic Conciergerie. We must retrace 
our steps to visit the prison now in use, which, as we have said, 
must be approached by the Salle des Gardes. 

On entering we pass through a little room used for searching 
prisoners, and just on the right of this are the visiting rooms. 1 

1 Parloirs des parents. 


Imagine a couple of the compartments to be found in telephone 
offices narrowed down, and put side by side, but separated from 
one another by a network of stout wire ; imagine yourself shut 
up in one of these boxes without Tight or air, while in the other 
stands some prison friend of yours who is waiting to appear 
before a jury ; you will have some idea of what a visit to a 
prisoner is like. On the left are the cells, of which there 
are seventy-three. Every now and then a little telegraphic signal- 
arm placed before the door falls with a noise like a chopper. 
This means that a prisoner has called the warder for some 
urgent reason. Take a look into this cell through the little half- 
open wicket. You will see a darkish slip of a room, with three 
men lying brutishly on mattresses, their senses deadened by 
continual anxiety and never-ending reflection. They are all 
in a heap near one another gloomy, spiritless, suffering, and 
pitiable. When they hear your steps they raise themselves on 
their arms, cast a glance of curiosity at you ; but when they 
see that you are only a passer-by and bring them neither 
orders nor news, they fall back again into their attitude of 
weary listlessness. 

A little farther on a door opens on the separate exercising 
spaces, exactly like the cages to be seen in a zoological garden, 
where prisoners walk up and down in pairs, silently brooding. 
At the sound of steps they move hurriedly to the bars. They 
make the visitor think of an animal running up in hopes of a 
piece of bread. Tamed already by their imprisonment, on seeing 
your tall hat they make you a low bow, and remain in a 
respectful attitude till you have passed by. 

Yet the exercise yard of the Conciergerie is less gloomy than 
that to be found in many other prisons. In the summer time 
three sickly little shrubs two stunted lilacs and a half-dead 
spindle-treeenliven the cold grey of the pavement and the 
harshness of the red brick wall with a soothing touch of green. 
" They do not live, you see, sir," says the warder, while we look at 
the three poor plants. " Here it is always too hot or too cold. 
Plants want air, sun, and liberty." 
And what of men ? 

The prisoners confined in the Conciergerie are those committed 
for trial before the Court of Assize, those who have appealed 
against a conviction by the Correctional Court of a Department 



within the appellate jurisdiction of the capital, 1 and those sentenced 
to death, during the three days' grace allowed them by the law for 
an appeal to the Court of Cassation. 

1 The jurisdiction of the Court of Appeal at Paris includes seven Departments : Yonne, 
Seine et Oise, Seine, Seine et Marne, Eure et Loir, Marne, Aube. 




ALL persons arrested in the department of the Seine and brought 
up for trial pass through the Depot. As its name imports, it is a 
place for depositing criminals of all sorts. To this place they are 
sent in crowds as they are taken up, and there they are divided 
into classes. On an average, the Depot receives 150 individuals 
a day. 

Suppose that you are arrested by a policeman and taken to the 
station the most respectable of us is liable to this accident if no 
one comes to claim you from the commissary before the passing 
of " Black Maria," l that handsome, sombre-hued carriage which 
resembles a mourning coach with the windows blocked up, you are 
shut up in this vehicle and sent on your way to the Depot. 

But be of good cheer ; for, otherwise, your lot would have been 
far more pitiable : you would have had to march across Paris as 
one of a file of blackguards between two rows of armed soldiers. 
To-day you have escaped this ignominy by merely taking a quiet 
drive in a closed carriage. 

The carriage stops on the Quai de 1'Horloge, before one of the 
doors of the Court of Cassation reserved for judges only and 
opening on to the grand staircase. On each side of this door is an 
archway, the one leading to the office of the detective police, the 
other to the Depot. The carriage passes beneath that on the left 
and sets its burden down at the Permanence Office, which stands 
opposite to the Dispensaire, or head office for the supervision of 
public women. The Permanence is the ante-room of the Depot. 

1 I.e. the prison van, the French slang word for which is "panier a salade." 



Whatever the hour of arrival, one in the afternoon, seven in the 
evening, or one in the morning, every one passes through it. 

Two chief inspectors of the Prefecture of Police are charged 
with the duty of drawing up a brief statement as to the names, 
Christian names, ages, birth places, and professions of those who 
arrive ; and of entering the whole in the gaol book, the cause of the 


arrest being duly set forth. ? This time you will not escape the 
ordeal of the march in Indian file between two rows of guards ; but 
the scene passes in a court-yard, where few people are present. 
The prisoners, without any distinction of sex, pass along a low 
pavilion which serves as the men's hospital of the Depot. They 
emerge into an open space, bounded by ruins on one side and a 
celebrated wall on the other, the wall of the Court of the Girondins. 


Lastly they are brought without any ceremony through ordinary 
folding doors into the entrance hall of the D^pot. 

In front is a lodge with glass windows occupied by the com- 
missary on duty and the warders dressed in a sort of exciseman's 
uniform. On the right is the men's quarter, on the left the 
women's quarter. 

The commissary reads out the list of names. The prisoners 
take off their shoes, and place themselves in the embrasure of a 
door, close to the window, to undergo examination by the searcher. 
" Raise your trousers undo your belt lift your arms ! " But alt 
these precautions do not prevent the knowing ones from concealing 
some precious article. 

The search ended, the prisoners are passed on to another official, 
who takes their measurement and registers their description and 
social rank. The description is supplemented, on the following 
morning, between eight and twelve o'clock, before M. Berbillon at 
the anthropometric department, which will be described later on. 

After this last ceremony the prisoner is ready for oral exam- 
ination before a judicial officer. 

From this time onwards, the official reports concerning the 
prisoner will have been sent to the second office of the Prefecture 
of Police. In this place his " record " is drawn up, his antecedents 
examined, and, in certain cases, a preliminary investigation is made 
of the charge brought against him. The head of the above-men- 
tioned office will have been able to examine him a right rarely used 
and even to set him at liberty, which is rarer still. This official has 
also the power to give tickets for the refuge at Nanterre to the infirm 
poor and to mendicants who have completed their term in prison. 

The record thus drawn up is forwarded by the Prefecture to 
the Petit Parquet. 

The Petit Parquet is an office occupied by two subordinates of 
the Procureur of the Republic. By a brief examination of the 
prisoners they find out the exact nature of the charges against 
them. They then send them, under the care of a municipal guard, 
to the Correctional Court for immediate trial where there is a 
prim A facie case, or they remand them for further investigation 
before a magistrate. 

Attached to the Petit Parquet itself are several judges of 
instruction always ready to undertake this duty in easy cases ; 
and if an affair is very simple, the statements of the prisoner are 



quickly dealt with. In difficult cases, the record is sent to a 
judge of the Grand Parquet ; the accused has to change his abode, 
and leave the Depot definitely for Mazas or La Sante ; when re- 
quired for the instruction or for his trial, he will be brought back 
to the Palace of Justice, but he will return the same evening to his 
new prison, by the Boulevard Diderot or Rue de la Sante. 

Heroes like Eyraud, Prado, and Pranzini alone have the 
privilege of being kept at the Depot, so that the detective officers 
may be better able to keep an eye on them. 

The rest are not supposed to 
remain there for more than three 
days, each room bearing a notice 
to this effect : 

" Every accused person who has 
not been examined during the first 
three days of his detention at the 
Depot should address a complaint 
to the Director-in-Chief." 

The Depot is thus only a place 
of passage. It was this peculiarity 
which suggested to an archi- 
tect who had been twitted with 
the defects of the building the 
smart reply, " What does the bad 
arrangement of the Depot matter, 
as prisoners do not stay there 
long ? " 

Nevertheless many improve- 
ments have been carried out, 
thanks to the Prisons Commission 
and to the present director-in-chief of the Depot, M. Meuge. 

But there will always be one defect, and that is the want of air 
in the underground cells lying beneath that portion of the Palace 
which looks out on the Place Dauphine. They were built in 1864. 
Let us visit them, beginning with the men's quarter. 

From a sketch by P. Renouard. 


A long two-storied gallery of cells like what may be seen in every 
prison : it forms a lofty, narrow nave, the walls of which are pierced 

THE DP6T 221 

for cells uniform in size and lighted by small opaque glass windows, 
and might be taken for the skeleton outline of a church as planned 
by some ascetic monk. 

The cells are monastic in appearance, and arc furnished with a 
table and chair ; at the back of each is a sanitary convenience. 

At the end of the nave, looking like the choir of a church, is 
the common hall known as the Salle des Blouses, a vast barrack- 
room with large port-holes which open on to the facade of the 
Place Dauphine under the right hand staircase. 

It is a fine place in the daytime when there is no one there, and 
visitors can amuse themselves by deciphering the golden book of 
Parisian criminal celebrities which adorns the wall. 

Let us take a few of the inscriptions at random ; in the greater 
part the name of the hero is accompanied by the name of the 
quarter in which he lives as if it were >a title of nobility : Lc 
Z onion de la Manbert ; Dedc de Charonne ; Bobcche Tctedeferde 
Montmartre ; Lostrogaud de la Maubert, 1 890. 

Some are enigmatic, as : Scnateur des Louis, 491. La grandeur 
et rOgnon de I' Eden. Others are melancholy, as : Adjutor de 
PEcole dit adieu a ses amis. And everywhere appears the constant 
refrain : Mort aux vacJies^ 

The time to come and see the place is in the evening, after the 
last prison van has deposited its burden at the door. There 
is an elegant footbridge from which an excellent view may be 
obtained of the sweepings of street and hovel that swarm there, an 
ever-changing crowd of creatures always the same, heroes of Mazas 
or Poissy, hopeless drunkards or humble philosophers addicted to 
a free and easy life in the open air and content to depend for sub- 
sistence on windfalls of public charity. 

Bed-time has come. The planks leaning up against the wall are 
pulled down and covered with mattresses to serve as camp beds. 
Old men in the first place, and then prisoners who during the day 
have acted as attendants find a place thereon. All the rest stretch 
themselves on the floor, on mattresses, in the proportion of four men to 
one mattress. And when the gas is lowered, a spectator of the scene 
would think of regimental life and of his first night as a conscript. 

There is a special room set apart for prisoners possessed of 
clean linen and dressed in fairly respectable clothes. It has been 
christened the Salle des 1 Habits Noirs. The " black coats " are not 

1 1 'ache is a. well-known slang word for the police. 



so very much better off than the " blouses." Their hall, which is 
on the story above, scarcely receives any air or light, it is very small 
and however little crowded, the inmates stifle together in the midst 
of a horrible stench. On the days succeeding public holidays in 
winter the crowd is much greater. The two halls overflow, and the 
prisoners are put in the first available place. Then the scene gives 
the spectator another impression ; in the shade, certain corners of 
the Depot look like the 'tween-decks of a Transatlantic steamer 
crowded with emigrants. 

In the afternoon, the prisoners while away the time strolling up 
and down in the exercise yards, which are placed in the two 
interior courts of the prison, to the right and left of the principal 
nave, like the two arms of the cross. 

On the right is the corridor which furnishes the common 

exercise' yards. On the left, the 
corridor which contains those where 
prisoners take solitary exercise. 

The " solitary " yards of the Depot 
arc very like the wild beasts' cages in 
the Jardin des Plantes ; but instead of 
the open sky, they are surmounted by 
a canopy of cast iron, supported by 
pillars encircled with rings of steel 
spikes like those of the Conciergerie, 
but even more forbidding to look 
at. There is no verdure to cheer the 
eye of the imprisoned animal; nothing 
but bare walls, more stifling, closer, 
and more monotonous. The prisoner 
finds the Depot more cheerless than 
the Conciergerie. A network of iron 
footbridges and staircases, like a cor- 
ner of the Eiffel Tower, overlooks the cages, which thus seem like 
so many pits, and enable the warders to see into every one of them. 
On one of the boundary walls the visitor remarks a small tower 
with a little window -which juts out. This tower contains the 
strange spiral staircase which leads inside the Palace of Justice 
from the Galerie de Harlay to the Court of Assize. We are in fact 
in a sort of well, between the hall of the Assize Court and the hall 
of the Correctional Court. The iron canopy is the corridor which 

From a sketch by P. Renouard. 



unites the two, and is also used as a waiting place for witnesses. 
The gallery full of cells which we saw a short time ago is exactly 
below the Court of Assize ; the cells on the right hand have for 
ceiling the Galerie des Prisonniers, and the common exercise yard 
is shut in between this gallery and the buildings of the Court of 
Cassation. The common exercise yards differ slightly from the 
solitary ones. The common yards are not barred in like cages ; 
they are rectangular stone inclosures, opening, by means of little 
wicket-gates, on to the same corridor, and forming little courts 
where the prisoners pace up 
and down like collegians. 
There is a separate yard for 
old men, another for those of 
middle age, another for youths 
of from seventeen to twenty, 
and another for the black coats. 
Another privilege for the well- 
dressed ! 

The children form the sad- 
dest sight of all : they do not 
play, but watch one another 
with furtive glances ; they 
mostly consist of street Arabs 
who have run away from home 
and taken to thieving for a 
livelihood. If any one speaks 
to them, they eye him with the 
suspicious look of little wild 
animals which resent being 
tamed ; the more impudent 
assume a hypocritical air ; here 

and there may be seen heads of little cherubs. There is a collection 
of cells reserved for them in the adjoining building. But the space 
is so confined that there is rarely room for all. They have a school- 
room where one of the warders officiates as teacher, but they do 
not make much progress under his care. 

At the entrance of the principal nave is a waiting-room, where the 
unfortunates who happen to be brought in at night are temporarily 
lodged. By its side is the hall where those destined for Mazas 
undergo the preliminary search ; they are searched in a state of 




nudity ; the men strip themselves to the skin in a kind of con- 
fessional box ; the searcher looks through the clothes, examines the 
man, and then passes him on into another niche, where he is at 
liberty to resume his clothing ; the open space between the two 
niches is hidden from the rest of the hall by a curtain. 


The women's quarter runs parallel to that of the men, but docs 
not communicate with it ; to enter it, the visitor must return to the 
main entrance of the Depot. 

In organisation it resembles that of the 
men. In the centre is a long nave, located 
beneath the chamber of Correctional Appeals. 
At the entrance are the waiting-room and 
searching-room, a little pavilion with white 
curtains ; women are never completely 
stripped to be searched. At the end, beneath 
the Harlay staircase, are the common rooms. 
They are two in number. One, reserved for 
women with babies, an agglomeration of rags 
or alternation of woe-begone faces and 
light curls ; the other allotted to prostitutes 
arrested for breach of the regulations. 

The second is well known from the picture 
by Beraud; but the painter has represented the 
scene in very rosy colours. In reality, the girls 
are all mean-looking, vicious, and debased. 
The crowd leaves an impression of pale flesh, 
red jerseys, red corsets, and red hair. Occa- 
sionally one of the young girls is pretty and has some remains ot 
freshness ; but the language is always foul and the gestures obscene. 
Even a judge of instruction, hardened as he is to filthy words, does 
not readily risk himself in this place. Yet on a little school- 
mistress's chair at the back of the hall, immediately beneath the sky- 
light, a nun of the order of Mary and Joseph keeps watch unmoved, 
as if unconscious of her surroundings, while the pranks of these 
jades and their vile remarks form an accompaniment to her prayers. 
The women's quarter is not shaped like a cross. The central 
nave is only flanked by a narrow court, divided in two by a corridor 

By P. Renouard. 



on one side is the exercise ground for female prisoners, on the 
other the sisters' garden. This is the garden we viewed from 
above on our way to the part of the law courts allotted to the 
Order of Advocates ; and now we can see the wooden gallery 
where we were formerly stationed from below. 

Being closer, we can now distinguish the costume of these good, 
simple, loving sisters who may be found in every part of the Depot ; 
the cap and white band showing beneath the triple veil in black,, 
blue, and white, above the white wimple and the black dress. At the 
garden-gate is a little child. A 
sister has just dressed it and 
is watching it from the wicket 
below. The poor little things 
do not get much care at the 
Depot. There is no asylum 
for them. They may be seen 
with yellow tickets on their 
backs in every corridor, drag- 
ging weary steps behind the 
sisters or standing moodily 
alone ; these children are 
foundlings, little creatures who 
have been lost or abandoned ; 
they are marked like packages, 
so as to be known again ; yet 
there is perhaps little chance 
of any inquiries being ever 
made about them. If the 
visitor passes by the chapel on 
the other side of the garden, 
he will come on another spec- 
tacle equally fitted to arouse his pity. For here is the women's 
infirmary, here are the unhappy beings who are kept in padded 
rooms, fit homes of madness. 

From the women's quarter there is a staircase leading to the 
corridor of the Souriciere. 1 This is a new corridor which, starting 

* O 

from the men's quarter, brings the Depot into communication 
with every part of the Palace of Justice, and gives access by the 
way to the Petit Parquet and the Souriciere itself. 

1 I.e. . mouse-trap. 





This is a corridor built in the form of a tunnel, low-vaulted, like 
a sewer. Its advantages are obvious. It enables accused persons 
to be conducted to either the Petit Parquet or the Correctional 
Court without taking them into the open air. But the loneliness 
of the situation must cause some alarm to the guard entrusted with 
this duty. 

About half-way, some water and vapour baths are in process of 
construction. This is a new departure in the way of luxury ; and 

From a drawing by P. Renouard. 

this Depot, so denounced, and so badly situated, will soon become 
a model establishment. A ray of golden light tries to pierce the 
gloom of this gray corridor ; it is the staircase which comes from 
the Petit Parquet. Let us see it. 


Those who knew the old Petit Parquet will be surprised. In 
place of the forbidding vestibule which looked like a damp and 


unhealthy cellar, in place of the dark corridors which led to 
wretched little offices reeking with vile odours, there are now lofty, 
.airy, and well-lighted halls, opening out on to the Sainte-Chapelle. 
Below the new buildings of the Court of Appeal, there is now a 
vestibule more luxurious in appearance than the ante-chamber of a 
minister. Criminals taken in the act have been daintily provided 

We now regain our tunnel-like corridor and follow it to the end, 
which brings us to the Souriciere ; it occupies the basement of the 
Correctional Court. 


The Souriciere is the waiting-room for prisoners from Mazas. 
They are brought thence for examination before the judges of 
instruction of the Grand Parquet, for trial before the Correctional 
Court, or for transportation to the house of correction at Nanterre. 

Whence comes this name of Souriciere ? Possibly from some 
.ancient dungeons, situated near the Sainte-Chapelle, and famed for 
the swarms of mice which they contained. Citizen Beauregard, 
who was imprisoned there, tells how he had to keep his face covered 
all night to save his nose and ears, and how his trousers were com- 
pletely eaten away. Possibly from the very appearance of the cells, 
Avhich with their doors chequered in little squares look exactly like 
mouse-traps. For this very reason the Souriciere has also been 
styled the " Thirty-six squares." It is not a pleasant abode. The 
cells are very narrow ; they are only lighted by the little square 
panes of opaque glass in the door ; and they have no ventilation 
save through one of these thirty-six squares which is left open, 
Inside the stench is pestilential. And this is all. To leave men, 
with the terrors of an examination or a sentence hanging over them, 
in these boxes the whole day is a reprehensible and useless refine- 
ment of torture. 

Some alterations have recently been made at the Souriciere. 
The reader will naturally suppose that these have been in the way 
of sanitary improvement. 

Nothing of the kind. 

The authorities have merely built a number of new cells, as 

Q 2 


cruel as the old ones, in order to unite the old Souriciere to the 
corridor leading from the Depot. And the reader should remember 
that the guests of the Souriciere arrive in the morning from nine to 
eleven; that they only depart between six and seven in the even- 
ing ; and that, in the meantime, they receive no refreshment. It 
is a wonder how any of them survive. Accused persons who happen 


to be acquitted are compelled to return to Mazas, like their comrades, 
to have their names formally erased from the gaol book, after which 
they are at liberty to leave. But the prospect of liberty assuages 
their troubles, and they do not much mind the final ride with the 
others in "Black Maria." 

Those amenable to the Court of Assize and the other prisoners 
of the Conciergerie escape the horrors of the Souriciere. They leave 



the Conciergerie by an underground passage ; this runs behind the 
barred chamber of the vestibule and joins a spiral staircase which 
gives access to the Court of Assize. This same staircase leads to 
;the Anthropometric Department. 




IF you are an interested visitor, you must first mount an incal- 
culable number of steps, the ascent lying through a kind of massive 
pigeon-house; then after taking five or six turns in different direc- 
tions, you will arrive in a little waiting-room. It is plainly furnished 
with benches and rows of pegs. You now receive two commands : 
the first is to strip yourself, the second to hold your tongue. 

But we can leave this staircase to those whom it may concern, 
and, if you like, take the road appropriated to free visitors, that is 
to say the new gallery, which extends from the Sainte-Chapelle to 
the vestibule of the Court of Assize. Almost in front of the stately 
hall where the counsellors of the First Chamber of the Court of 
Appeal will soon come for their diurnal slumbers, you see a plain- 
looking door, and then a stone staircase which you ascend, and r 
when you have reached the topmost steps, you can read, printed 
above another little door painted brown, the words: 


Let us enter this sanctuary. 

The high priest is a young and kindly savant, M. Alphonse 
Bertillon, creator of the anthropometric service ; the Government 
having, in return for his assistance, appointed him chief ruler of the 


M. Bertillon was struck by the insufficiency of the methods 
hitherto employed to establish the identity of habitual criminals. 
It was obvious to him that the thing needed was not so much a law 
for dealing with habitual criminals as the power of applying it. 

But how was the habitual criminal l to be discovered when he 
concealed his identity ? The latter knows that, having already 
undergone a certain number of convictions, he will be liable, if con- 
victed again, to transportation for life to a penal colony. His 
course is therefore clear ; to try and pass himself off as some one 
else, to assume an imaginary civil status, and to get for himself a 
new and clean character under a false name so true it is that 
some men will believe anything ! 

Then begins the struggle between justice and this unknown, 
who, out of malic? will choose in preference a common name, 
very widely spread, such as Martin, Bernard, or Duval. But the 
criminal records, ranged in alphabetical order at the Prefecture of 
Police, possess under the names of Martin, Bernard, and Duval 
piles of notices five or six hundred yards in height ; to find the 
exact details relative to the alleged Martin, Bernard, or Duval will 
be almost impossible, or at any rate extremely difficult. 

Suppose that the man in question has suffered three or four 
convictions under his real name, then if he chose to take an alias 
there was no rapid or precise way of recognising him. The autho- 
rities groped their way in darkness. 

At last Bertillon appeared. 

Turning to account his scientific knowledge, he came to the 
conclusion that it was possible to find a criterion of identity, based 
on the principle of measurement of the body, it being an established 
fact that, out of ioo,OOO individuals, there was not one whose head 
and chief members were of the same dimensions. 

The young anthropologist's attention was chiefly directed to 
the parts of the body least susceptible of variation during the 
period of full growth. He was led to take as his data the length 
of the head, measured from the concavity at the root of the nose 
to the occiput ; its breadth, measured from one parietal to the 
other ; the length of the left middle finger, that of the left 
foot (the members of the body on the right side being liable 
to exceptional development under the action of physical toil), 
the length of the ear, the length of the forearm, the measurement 

1 Recidivists. 


with the arms stretched out cross-wise, and lastly the colour of 
the eye. 

These data taken, the point was to find some metho'd of classi- 
fication for the pile of individual records which would encumber 
the pigeon-holes of the anthropometric department as soon as it 
began to act. For the efficacy of the system depended on its 
prompt applicability. Each person arrested for an offence at 
common law was to be passed under the measuring post and com- 
pass of the anthropometer. Their number can be readily imagined ; 
thieves, forgers, murderers, swindlers, and vagabonds innumerable 
cross the door of the Depot every day. What method was to be 
adopted to simplify inquiry ? M. Bertillon, who is a man of 
essentially simple mind in the scientific sense of the word, re- 
solved to have recourse to a system of elimination, after having 
established three great general classes, each distinguished by the 
stature of the individuals measured, who were to be divided into 
short, middle-sized, and tall. Suppose that, at any given time, the 
anthropometric department possesses 90,000 records of individuals 
who have been measured, or, to coin a word, Bertillonised. These 
have been divided into three classes, each containing 30,000. The 
first comprises persons of short stature, measuring from I metre to 
i metre 60 mm. in height ; 1 the second comprises those of middle 
stature from I metre 61 mm. to I metre 70 mm. ; and the third 
comprises those of tall stature from I metre 71 mm. to 2 metres. 

This is the first division. 

Each of these three classes is subdivided always by threes 
into three groups of 10,000 according as the measure of the head 
from the root of the nose to the occiput is small, medium, or large. 

With the third subdivision these 10,000 individuals are classed 
in three groups according to the length of the left middle finger : 
small, medium, or large. 

The three classes in the next subdivision only comprise 1,000 
subjects each, divided according to the length of the left foot. 

The fifth subdivision is divided into three groups of 300, classed 
according to the dimensions of the forearm ; and we arrive at 
the last subdivision, which only comprises three sections of 100 
subjects each, divided according to the length of the little finger. 

Thus unity is reached at last. 

1 One French metre = 3-281 English feet. A centimetre (indicated by "mm.") is 
the hundredth part of a metre. 


i. Height. 2. Stretch of Arms. 3. Half-length. 4. Length of Head. 5. Width of Head. 6. Right Ear. 
7. Left Foot. 8. Left Middle Finger. 9. Left Forearm. 



Now, suppose that out of 90,000 individuals there happen to be 
two equal to one another in height, length of the head, of the left 
middle finger, of the left foot, the forearm and the little ringer a 
thing which happens once in 100,000 cases here would still be 
100,000 chances against one against these two individuals having 
an iris the same colour. 

Consequently, when a subject, male or female, has been measured 
by the anthropomctric department, and his description noted on a 


separate record, it is enough, should he be arrested again, to again 
take his exact measurement in order to find his first description in 
a few minutes, and so his first record. 

When it is remembered that, besides this careful record, two 
photographs are taken of every subject, it will be readily understood 
that any confusion is impossible. 

Now that we know the mechanism of the anthropometric 
service, we may enter the apartments allotted to it. 

The morning, especially from eight to eleven o'clock, is the time 


when they present most animation, as, after twelve o'clock, every 
person under arrest has to be ready for the judge of instruction. 

But from the earliest hour the spectacle is full of interest. The 
waiting-room is crowded by ragged creatures, with stubbly hair and 
unshorn beards. It looks like the common d res singr- room of a 
cheap bath-house or a general review of the beggars of- a district- 
There are eight municipal guards present to see that obedience is 
paid, to the regulations : speed in the work of stripping and silence 
in the ranks. Do not, however, believe that justice, so careful in 
the search for truth, goes so far as to impose an official uniform on 
its ordinary clients ; and when a stern voice bids subject No. I 
come forward, it is in a simple but suitable dress that he presents 
himself for measurement. 

If he has already undergone the ordeal after a previous arrest, 
and is willing to speak the truth about his previous record, he is 
soon dismissed. 

But there is nothing interesting here. The thing to note is the 
certainty with which the chief of the department is able in a few 
minutes to confound the imposture of this other ragged scoundrel 
with cadaverous face, and evil look, who, grinding his teeth, declares 
that his name is Dumont, that-he has never been convicted, and that 
he is the victim of an abominable error of the police. 

He knows, nevertheless, that a year, or perhaps two years ago, 
he was brought before this very same machine, and that his head 
has been measured by the legs of this very same compass which the 
assistant is now applying to his forehead and temples. But he per- 
sists in denying this, being ignorant of the marvellous efficacy of 
the Bertillon system. " They measure such a lot here," says he to 
himself, " that they will never find me out." 

Criminals have no idea, either, to what exactness of detail the 
classification of the department has been brought. 

He is now measured lengthwise and crosswise. He passes 
under the movable peg so that his stature may be ascertained. He 
stands on the wooden stool to have his foot measured. Carefully 
made instruments take the dimensions of his ear, his finger, and his 
forearm. This completed, an official, after studying the results 
arrived at, goes to a little pigeon-hole, and takes therefrom a square 
of cardboard, on which is a record of fifteen characteristics, sup- 
ported by the addition of a photograph. He returns with it, and 
standing before the so-called Dumont, says to him : 


" You still declare that your name is Dumont ? " 

" Most decidedly." 

" That you were born ? " 

"At Marseilles, in 1854." 

" That you have never been convicted ? " 

" Never." 

The official carefully scrutinises him. He assures himself, from a 
comparison with the photograph before his eyes, that there can be 
no doubt of the identity, and he then makes the following little 
speech : 

" You are a liar ! Your name is not Dumont You are 

called Tavernier, Christian name Adolphe ; you were born at 
Pontoise on June 2nd, 1851 ; you have already suffered four con- 
victions, two for theft and two for swindling." 

The wretched man stands crushed and dumb-foundered. 

The inquisitor adds : " Guards, raise this man's sleeve ; on his 
left arm he ought to have a figure tattooed in blue, representing a 
heart pierced by an arrow, and surmounted by a cap of liberty." 

The guard lifts the sleeve, and the tattoo marks appear to the 
consternation of the culprit, who would like to bury himself in the 

The man's antecedents are forthwith noted on the police reports 
relative to the case in hand ; and with this full record before him 
the judge will know the character of the person with whom he has 
to deal. 

The visitor will note the comfort and convenience which marks 
all the appointments of the anthropometric department ; it has 
been arranged with a method and order which are above praise. 

On the top story are the rooms for photography. The 
manipulation of the lenses and plates is so quick that proofs 
can be taken in a moment, without interruption and without 
delay, the department having two ends in view ; simplicity and 

Cases, however, arise when M. Bertillon's clients refuse to let 
the photographer take their portraits. To escape this decisive 
proof, they wriggle about, move backwards and forwards, refuse 
to approach the seat placed before the instrument. Stratagem 
has then to take the place of persuasion. 

At each of the four corners of the studio is an instantaneous 
photographic apparatus, concealed behind little boxes which con- 



tain plates. A photographer takes up, as if by chance, the box 
which masks one of these instruments. He pretends to look for a 
proof in it, and cries out : 

" But, by the by, we have your photograph here ! " 
The trick always succeeds. These words make enough im- 
pression on the person interested to fix him to his place if only 


for one or two seconds ; and this is time enough for the hidden 
operator to do his work. And Justice possesses at once a portrait 
of the victim against his will. 

And now, with all things marching to perfection, and science 
bringing the treasures it discovers nearer to us day by day 



can it be supposed that the police will not draw further profit 
from their inventions ? The time will come, perhaps, when it will 
reproduce your words, your gestures, even your very thoughts. . . . , 
in which case it had better take for device the saying of Alphonse 
Bertillon himself, a truly " anthropometric "jest : 

"We must remember to observe a measure in all things." 



AT the end of a long, dark corridor, not far from the Advo- 
cates' Library, is the office of M. Goron, head of the Detective 
Police, whose duties are well known the discovery and arrest of 
supposed evil-doers. 

The creation of the Detective Police dates from 1832. Be- 
ginning with a staff of 31 men, its numbers were increased, in 
1848, to 1 60. At the present day it includes more than 300 men, 
exclusive of the superior officers. The private soldier in this 
battalion holds the title of inspector ; he has for superior officers 
the brigade inspector and the chief inspector. 

The first head of the Detective Police was M. Allard. He held 
the office from November I5th, 1832, to December I5th, 1848. After 
him came Perrot, Canler, Balestrino, Collet, Tenaille, Claude, Jacob, 
Mace, who held his post from February i/th, 1879 to March 3ist, 
1884, when he retired on a pension. 

M. Kuehn only remained for a short time at the head of this 
department. He was succeeded by M. Taylor, under whom the 
Prefect of Police appointed a deputy. 

This deputy, M. Goron, formerly a commissary of police, was 
appointed head of the Detective Service on November I4th, 1887, 
in succession to M. Taylor, who is now public prosecutor at the 
Court of Simple Police. 

M. Goron is a Knight of the Legion of Honour. He is about 
forty years old. It has not been left for us to sound his praises. 
The head of the Detective Police has friends everywhere, both at 

1 La Police de Si'trete. 



the Prefecture of Police and at the Parquet, where he is held in 
the very highest esteem. 

M. Goron is a man ot rare intelligence and keenness ; in the 
exercise of functions at once difficult and delicate he has shown 
himself to be gifted with the most perfect tact ; and to these 
precious qualities he joins courage, loyalty, and courtesy. 

Those who have the good luck to enter M. Goron's private 
room will find it a veritable museum ; by the side of a superb 
collection of weapons is a large frame filled with the photographs 
of a crowd of celebrated criminals. 


The members of the service employed at the offices are principally 
occupied in receiving and registering notes and reports on matters 
of justice (of which there are about 150 to 160 a day) ; in drawing 
up and despatching statements required by the administrative 
and judicial authorities; in making abstracts relative to the position 
of all individuals sent to the Depot by the police commissaries of 
Paris or the suburbs ; lastly, they are in constant correspondence, 
by letter or telegram, with the provinces or foreign countries. 

The agents of the special brigade, composed of an inspector- 
general, M. Jaume, four brigadiers, a sub-brigadier, and twenty 



inspectors, undertake important missions of special delicacy or 
danger, both at home and abroad. The special brigade searches 
for and arrests great criminals, those who perpetrate vast financial 
or commercial frauds, &c. 

The section for reports and warrants 1 comprises a chief inspector, 
a brigadier, and forty inspectors, whose attention is devoted to 
researches, inquiries, and investigations of every kind. 

The brigade for warrants is more especially occupied in tracking 
out criminals with a view to their immediate apprehension ; that 
for reports is chiefly engaged in providing information. 

The latter body having to draw up long reports by which the 
judge of instruction is often induced to declare a person hitherto 
merely suspected as primd facie liable on a criminal charge are 
chosen from among the better educated class. They collect the 
information required by the public prosecutor at twenty-four hours' 
notice in the case of offenders caught in the act, and brought before 
a criminal court for immediate trial. 

A brigadier, who acts as cashier of the department, a clerk and 
ten inspectors form the section of requisitions. Their chief duty is 
to carry out the requisitions of the public prosecutor ; to take in 
execution persons who have become State debtors from having to 
pay fine or costs, &c. This body of men brings into the State 
coffers every year some 70,000 or 80,000 francs which, without 
their aid, the Treasury would regard as bad debts. 

The Mont-de-Piete brigade only consists of a sub-brigadier 
and three inspectors, charged with the supervision of pawn-shops. 

One of the most important brigades is that of " the public 
streets." It consists of a brigadier, four sub-brigadiers, and thirty- 
four inspectors, commanded by Chief Inspectors Gaillarde and 
Rossignol. The members of this brigade, known as the flying 
brigade^ have no special duty. 

They stroll about on the chance of finding employment. It is, in 
fact, by walking up and down the most crowded streets, by visiting 
banks and churches, by keeping an eye on the starting-places of 
omnibuses and on race-courses, that they manage to run down and 
catch in the very act certain individuals whose movements have 
struck them as suspicious. 

Their duty is exceedingly difficult, and to obtain success they 
need special aptitudes. These agents are the terror of pick- 

1 La section des notes ct mandats. 



pockets, roulottiers, voleurs a rAmericaine, a la tire, au poivrier, 
cambrioleurs?- in one word, of the numerous varieties of thieves 
whom they are instructed to look out for. 

As to the " morals" police, consisting of thirty-two agents, it is 
well known that their duty is to carry out the public raids on 
women of improper character which have so often provoked the 
protests of the press, and to look after the houses licensed for 

Lastly the central or permanent section is the largest of all ; it 
comprises a chief inspector, a brigadier, seven sub-brigadiers, and 
1 24 inspectors. Some of these agents have fixed posts in'the offices, 
at the central administrative department ; others remain ready in 
case they should be required for urgent service by the police com- 
missaries ; others are on duty in certain financial establishments, 
the Treasury, the Bank of France, the Stock Exchange, &c. Those 
who are not occupied as above remain at the detective office, ready 
for any emergency. 

They have many functions ; they protect persons who are 
threatened with murder or violence ; they are charged with the 
duty of conducting prisoners into the town in order to confront 
them with different people, &c. Lastly they collect information in 
cases where it is urgently required by the Government or the 
public prosecutor. 

1 These are all slang words. A ronlottier steals from vans or carts; voter a I'Ameri- 
caine is a general term for the confidence trick. La tire is a phrase for pocket picking ; 
a voleur an poivrier robs drunken men (poivriers). A camlrioleur obtains entry into 
apartments and carries off the ornaments. 

R 2 



LET us make a bow to the judge of instruction. 

There is no business more difficult than his. 

His functions and the sphere in which he exercises them are of 
the most extensive and unlimited description, the law having but 
loosely defined and regulated his powers. The judge of instruc- 
tion should leave no stone unturned that may lead to a discovery 
of the truth ; he must prosecute the most careful researches ; he 
must pursue the most trifling clue ; he must verify every fact ; he 
must direct investigations and seizures ; order examinations by 
experts ; summon and hear witnesses ; interrogate persons accused 
of crime ; and make play with the whole arsenal of orders and 
warrants to appear, produce, impound, and arrest. 

It is needful, therefore, not only that the judge of instruction 
should possess wide legal knowledge, but that he should also be 
endowed with accuracy, insight, decision, adroitness, patience, and 
good-temper. He should be astonished neither at the loftiest 
sentiments nor the most criminal ideas, neither at exhibitions of 
virtue nor subtleties of vice. Nothing ought to move, much less 
surprise him. 

1 See Chapter I., p 4. 


The judge of instruction ought to possess a well-tempered 
mind and an iron frame ; he should have moral force and physical 
health, a clear head, and a perfect digestion. 

At night, in the midst of the deepest sleep, the judge of instruc- 
tion is liable to be suddenly aroused by intelligence of an important 
arrest or an urgent interrogatory. And when he enters his office, 
between one and two in the afternoon, he may either have to hurry 
away the next minute on some distant business, or be detained 
there till eleven o'clock at night. 

At Paris the judges of instruction, to the number of twenty- 
eight, hold their sittings on the three upper stories of the Palace 
of Justice which lie directly above the three corridors of the Cor- 
rectional Chambers, with the exception of two of these magistrates, 
who are stationed at the Petit Parquet. 

To reach their offices, the 
visitor must ascend several 
pairs of stairs, and make his 
way into an enormous hall, of 
great length and rectangular 
shape, lighted by windows 
which open on to the court 
of the Sainte-Chapelle. 

He will first have to state 
his business to an office clerk, 
in a dark blue uniform, the 

copper-gilt buttons of which are kept bright from constant rubbing 
against benches and wood-work. This clerk is usually seated 
at a desk which looks like a stone washing-stand, on one of the 
sides of which a gas lamp, with a common-looking green shade, 
stands like a flag. 

There, with a dignified air, more supercilious than that of the 
judge under whom he acts, the office clerk receives from the nume- 
rous witnesses cited the summonses which explain their attendance. 
Occasionally the subaltern identifies himself with his superior. 

" In what case do you appear, sir ? " 

" The Malthassin case." 

"Very well, it won't take long; you know we knock off" our 
instructions pretty briskly." 

Every day in the week an immense number of people of every 
class, beggars and millionaires, cobblers and members of the 


Institute, cross and re-cross each other in the waiting-rooms. 
Here a cook in a white apron talks lovingly to a municipal guard ; 
there, with their arms folded in the attitude of blind men waiting 
for alms, the witnesses of some accident bide their time, leaning 
against the wall, and fixing their eyes on vacancy. One of them 
sighs and keeps looking at his watch with significant nods of his 
head ; another reads his newspaper through and through, from the 
date at the beginning to the printer's name at the end ; another, 
possessed by an irresistible desire for movement, walks up and 
down, counting his paces, and feverishly biting the points of his 

Suddenly the electric bell rings, the clerk rushes off ; eyes are 
raised, and with neck stretched out towards the door by which the 
clerk is to return, each witness waits anxiously to hear what name 
will be called out. 

The clerk reappears, and solemnly delivers his message. 

"In the Malthassin case, the judge of instruction cannot hear 
any one more to-day; you will return to-morrow." 

A deep stupefaction falls upon every one, and the hubbub of 
departure drowns the curses of the irritable and the grumblings of 
the discontented. 

The accused alone does not wait. 

Let us follow him along the side corridor with a municipal 
sniard on either side of him. 


A door opens before him, on the lintel of which appears a square 
copper plate engraved in large letters with the name of the judge 
whose office it is. 

The room is small ; at the back, close to the windows, stand 
two mahogany desks side by side, one for the judge of instruction, 
the other for his registrar. On the left or the right is a second 
door opening into a smaller room used for receiving friends or 
confidential communications. By the judge's side is the button of 
an electric bell, connecting his office with the clerk's lobby, or with 
the guardroom of the Petit Parquet ; some offices are provided 
with speaking-tubes. Sometimes the examinations or the deposi- 
tions are interrupted by a little knock at the door. It is a muni- 
cipal guard with a note, or an advocate in his robes come to ask 
for leave to communicate with a prisoner, or a clerk with a visiting 

At last the day's work is over, the prison van has carried its 


customers for the day to the various prisons -of Paris ; then, be- 
tween four and five o'clock, the judges of instruction come forth, 
grave, sad, or smiling, according as they happen to have extracted 
confessions, failed to do so, or obtained some hope of eventual 

Behind them, after having only waited to arrange the papers 
and turn out the gas, comes a train of very solemn personages. 

Let us bow; these are the office clerks who are passing. 

And now let us see the magistrate at work. 

A crime has been committed and the perpetrator remains un- 

The first question is to discover this criminal, who, more 
cunning than a beast of the chase, has doubled again and again, 
crossed his tracks, and baffled all the dogs of justice in his efforts 
to avoid capture. 

The judge of instruction then investigates with the greatest 
possible care, with the most minute attention, everything which in 
the ordinary or exceptional habits of the quarry may furnish a 
clue. Papers, letters, trifling articles, be it only a pin found in 
some peculiar position, are examined with the most anxious 
precautions. Persons who have had relations with the victim are 
heard and their declarations tested. 

The author of the crime, or rather the presumed author, is 
found ; but he shuffles and denies ; the proofs are not convincing 
enough to enable any one to affirm his guilt as certain. What 
is wanted is an admission. But how is the judge of instruction to 
obtain it ? The public has heard many tales of the mysteries of 
instruction. Every day we are reminded of what has been called 
the handcuff trick, the " Handcuff him, guards /" which has become 
a legend at the Palace ; of episodes like the telephone incident in 
the Wilson case ; l then there is the celebrated blank sheet of 
paper which the magistrate holds in his hand, declaring it to 
contain depositions of the most damning kind, the statement that 
an accomplice has been arrested and confessed all ; then, that no 
declaration has been made, &c., &c. 

It would of course be foolish to deny that all these methods 
have been put in practice : but let us hasten to add that such a 

1 The world has not yet forgotten this extraordinary incident. M. Vigneau, in charge 
of the instruction in the decorations scandal, telephoned to a purchaser of the riband of 
the Legion of Honour, passing himself off as M. Wilson. 


case is a great exception. Those who employ these methods are 
generally young judges of instruction, who are wanting in any 
deep knowledge of men and things. They are, in any case, 
severely denounced by old magistrates, who have grown gray in 
the harness. These latter insist on the most perfect good faith in the 
modes of action employed ; they object to trickery, which is more 
and more falling into disuse ; and they hold that, even in the most 
hardened, there is always a weak point, a defect in the brazen 
armour, which it is their duty to discover. 

And thus it is to be regretted that the delicate work of 
preliminary investigation should be sometimes confided to deputy 
judges, who, despite the best intentions in the world, have not 
sufficient liberty of action, even if we leave out of sight the state 
of dependence in which they stand to the Ministry of Justice, and 
the small amount of experience they possess. 

One of the formalities of instruction on which the public looks 
with much suspicion is the dictation of the depositions by the 
judge, who makes a summary of them, which is taken down by the 
registrar to form the record. 

Often, in the course of a trial, a prisoner or a witness will be 
heard to say that what is put into his mouth by le curieux, as the 
judge of instruction is called in the slang of the criminal class, 
does not represent the statement really made. 

But there is no real cause for objection ; on the one hand, 
credit for fairness and honourable feeling should be allowed to the 
judge, who in the vast majority of cases has nothing to gain by 
purposely distorting the facts ; on the other, there is the presence 
of the registrar, who also hears the depositions, and is thus able 
to check the correctness of the statement dictated to him. 

All one can say is, that the judge of instruction, when per- 
suaded of the guilt of the man before him, is liable sometimes to 
give a little too much colour to an admission. But this is rare, and 
too much stress should not be laid on it ; we have said " too much 
colour," let us say "too deep a shade" and we shall be nearer the 

The accused person or the witness, moreover, always has his 
deposition read over to him. If, therefore, he thinks that what he 
said has not been properly taken down, he can always refuse to 
sign the paper. 



It is impossible to speak of the judge of instruction without 
devoting a short sketch to M. Guillot. 

He is stout, short, and thick-set, with strong bristling eye-brows. 
His face is lit up by two lively little eyes that drill you through 
like a gimlet, and will gauge you any man in five minutes. Such 
is the magistrate who, on many accounts will be remembered as 
the type of the modern judge of instruction. He is a glutton for 
work, and has written a book, Paris qui Souffre, touching as a wail 
of pain and misery. He will probably retain his post for life, 
owing to the distinction with which he fills it, and his want of 
ambition for any other. And, with all this, M. Guillot devotes his 
few spare hours to philosophic studies which have opened to him 
the doors of the Institute. 

Those whose idea of the judge of instruction is derived from 
penny periodicals will be astonished to hear that M. Guillot passes 
the greater part of his afternoons in examining children, poor little 
wretches abandoned by their parents, or guilty of some petty- 
theft ; in trying to awaken their slumbering conscience ; and in 
doing his best to place them under charitable care, so that they 
may be preserved from the house of correction, the normal school 
of crime, as it has been called. To him, in fact, together with 
President Flandin and a young advocate, Maitre Rollet, known 
familiarly as the St. Vincent de Paul of the Law Courts, we owe 
the repeal of the old abominable laws relating to children ; the 
brutal and hurried committal to prison, without any consideration 
of the child's circumstances, or appeal to feelings of compassion. 

But very different appears M. Guillot when he finds himself 
face to face with a criminal of mark. The majority of our 
criminal heroes have passed long days in his room at the Palace : 
Campi, Prado, Pranzini, and many others. If they have not all 
left it unmasked, they have all come out subdued. 

M. Guillot's plan is first of all to begin by analysing the 
character of the man who is brought before him. The study of 
the crime charged will only come in the second place, when the 
judge will be able to interpret the act in accordance with the 
nature of the individual, now thoroughly brought to light. 

M. Guillot undertakes this work of analysis with extraordinary 


zest. In vain does his subject shrink back and twist about ; vainly 
does he coil himself up like a cat who thinks she cannot be caught 
because she hides her ears ; in vain does he endeavour to weave 
together a logical skein of falsehood. Fascinated by a searching 
tongue which plucks the truth from his heart, a day must event- 
ually come when he will say to this man who divines everything : 
" Well, yes, you have discovered my secret ; " and he will drop his 
mask, like an amateur beaten in a fencing bout. 

Sometimes when he does not feel himself sufficiently master of 
the situation, M. Guillot will call to his aid 'the witness generally 
a woman who alone has the power to extort a confession. 

The reader will remember the case of Marchandon, who a few 
years ago murdered a widow lady in the Rue de Seze. 

Marchandon, who had been in service and committed a murder 
in Paris, was living at Compiegne as a man of small independent 
means with a mistress named Blin, whom he passed off as his wife. 
He cultivated an orchard, he was a candidate for office, and he had 
called on the municipal council to suppress a disorderly house, 
the neighbourhood of which shocked his virtue. Brought before 
M. Guillot, after the assassination of Madame Cornet, Marchandon 
obstinately refused to make confession. The judge saw that he 
could wring nothing from this wretch ; he summoned Jane Blin, 
and, calculating rightly on the indignation of the woman, who was 
furious at having, though without knowing it, lived with an 
assassin, he placed the pair face to face with one another. 

Read over again the report of this meeting ! The fierce and 
selfish character of the woman comes out with an astonishing 
clearness. Before her the man is shame-faced, crushed, and over- 
come. by the love which he still feels for her. 

JANE BLIN. Wretch, it is on your account that I have been 
brought here. You have deceived me ; without my knowing it 
you have involved me in your criminal existence. It was you 
alone who murdered Madame Cornet. 

MARCHANDON. No, no. It is Anatole ! 

JANE BLIN. I saw you after the murder. You were 
depressed. You kept saying that you wished you were dead. 
You were looking out of the window all the time. Come now } 
confess you are trying to pass your crime off on another. You 
did it all. 

MARCHANDON. Well ! Yes, it is I alone ! 


JANE BLIN. Tell the whole truth. 

MARCHANDON. Leave me alone ; make an end of this. 
Let them kill me at once ! 

JANE BLIN. They will kill you soon enough. No fear of 
that. But you must tell all, so that people may know that I was 
your first victim. How did you kill this woman ? 

MARCHANDON. In her room. 

JANE BLIN. She was asleep ; you must have woke 
her up. 

MARCHANDON (despairingly}. But, since it is Anatole (an 
imaginary person invented by Marchandoii). 

JANE BLIN. And your braces, which were found by the side 
of the corpse ? 

MARCHANDON. It must be Anatole who put them there, so 
as to ruin me. 

JANE BLIN. Be quiet then ! This was the reason of your trips 
to Paris, here is the secret of the letters you used to receive from 
great ladies, whose lover you pretended to be. Repent, wretch ; 
repent. If I have lived with an assassin, let him at least ask pardon 
of God. Come now, how did it happen ? 

MARCHANDON. I had the kitchen key. I got in that way. 
I took a large knife which was lying on the dresser. I made my 
way into the room. Madame Cornet had taken off her clothes, 
put on her nightdress, and got into bed. Then I showed myself 
and she saw me. . . . she screamed with fright. . . . she rose 
up ! ... she tried to escape. ... I seized her. ... I struck 

JANE BLIN. This is the truth ? 

MARCHANDON. Oh, yes ! 

JANE BLIN. Swear it by the head of your mother. 

MARCHANDON. I swear it ! 

Three months later Marchandon was guillotined on the square 
of La Roquette. 

Another judge of instruction, well known to every newspaper 
reader, is M. Laurent Atthalin. With his flowing hair brushed 
back from his forehead, his long and carefully trimmed beard, 
M. Laurent Atthalin is the model of a polite judge. He sends 
his man to the scaffold with all the formality of a gentleman 
of birth. Before him have passed Euphrasie Mercier, M. Wilson, 
the members of the Patriotic League, the Russian Nihilists, as well 


as Turpin, Tripone, and the other persons involved in the recent 
Melinite scandal. 

Lastly comes M. Doppfer, from Alsace. Patriotic and con- 
scientious, he is honesty itself, and pursues his task without noise 
or display, but at the same time with the steadiness of a pack- 
horse, which moves slowly, but never stops to take rest on the 

Eyraud and Gabrielle Bompard learned something of this. 



THE judges of instruction take action at the call of the Parquet, 
and it is only in compliance with requisitions from the Parquet that 
they determine the fate of an accused person by a declaration that 
there is no ground for prosecution or an order sending his case 
before the competent jurisdiction. 

What is the Parquet ? A singular word, which in the sanc- 
tuary of justice makes one think of the Temple of Finance. 1 

The Parquet is simply the Procureur with his deputies. The 
Procureur dominates all this little world ; and he settles himself 
questions of some importance by directing prosecutions or casting 
a veil over certain disgraceful scandals. 

At the moment at which we write the head of the Parquet 
in the Paris Courts of First Instance, is M. Banaston, who 
succeeded M. Bernard. He is a distinguished magistrate, who, 
when he was Advocate-General in the Assize Court, showed marked 
skill as a speaker, and is now esteemed for courtesy and tact in the 
exercise of his official duties. 2 

1 The word parquet is regularly used to denote the chief meeting place of brokers in 
the Paris Stock Exchange. It is also used as equivalent to Ministtre Public, explained 
above, Ch. I. p. 2 of this work. 

- Since the above was written M. Banaston has died ; he has been succeeded in his 
office of Procureur at the Paris Courts of First Instance by M. Roulier 





FOR many years, it might be said for many centuries, persons 
who came to the law courts on business, whether for themselves or 
others, and were suddenly taken ill there, persons who were seized 
with a fit in the overheated Courts, and would-be desperadoes who 
made classical attempts at suicide with the clerk's penknife in the 
presence of the judge of instruction, had nothing to keep them 
from departing this life but the insufficient attentions of the Court 
ushers, office clerks, and municipal guards on duty. No regular 
practitioner was attached to the judicial establishment as holding a 
" post of succour " ; when necessary, a doctor from the neighbour- 
hood, a stranger to the great judicial family, had to be called in. 

There was something particularly shocking in this both for 
judges and advocates ; it was impossible to die en famille ; it was 
a stranger who came to give you the last consolations of 

The Council-General for the department of the Seine saw the 
magnitude of this void, and resolved to fill it up. The office of 
" physician of the Palace " was created, and the present holder, the 
amiable Doctor Charles Floquet, was specially appointed to look 



after the indispositions of the legal community. Dr. Floquet at 
once understood what was wanted by the members of the great 
family which he was entering. What the Palace of Justice required 
was not a doctor of the old school, solemn and long-worded, always 
disposed to make silent examinations or formidable soundings, 
always ready to write prescriptions stuffed with technical terms. 
No, what was wanted was a man who, while fully qualified so 
far as medical attainments went, should conceal his professional 
characteristics under an affable exterior and should be completely 
one of the family. 


An advocate or a judge overcome by the heat of Court needed 
a doctor who could make him smile ; the accused who made an 
attempt at suicide needed a doctor who, while bandaging his wounds 
with a light strip of gummed taffetas, would remind him that ink 
erasers are made to scratch paper not human skin. 

In a word, the Palace of Justice wanted a man who, in case of 
need, would be able to revive a patient by cordial words, rather 
than by a cordial without words. 

Doctor Floquet has so well understood the importance of this 



part of his duties that he has employed his leisure time people do 

not die in the law courts ever)' day in legal studies. He is a 
licentiate in law, if you please ; and a violet riband, once rect- 
angular, but now grown round shaped, is fastened to his button- 
hole ; he has an engaging manner and a pleasant voice. No one 
knows better than the Palace doctor how to soothe with a word the 
anxiety of lawyers troubled by coughs or colds. As he passes by 
he whispers a recommendation of some powder to be taken in hot 
milk without appearing to attach any importance to the case ; the 
invalid is reassured and his ailment disappears. 

The day, a distant one we may hope, will come when others 
will occupy the place now held by Doctor Floquet. But it will 
be no discredit to them if we declare that none will ever surpass 
him in the qualifications of his office, or find on their rounds more 
friendly hands held out to them. Doctor Floquet, for the due 
performance of his duties, has to be constantly on the move from 
one part of the Palace to another ; certain people, seeing his room 
door nearly always shut, imagine his office to be a sinecure. To 
these we offer the following curious statistics of his services. In 
1890 there were at the law courts : 

Medical Cases. 

Cardiac affections 9 

Cases of syncope and vertigo 42 

Cases of hemorrhage 12 

Affections of the respiratory organs (acute and chronic laryngitis, 

spasms of the glottis, &c.) 29 

Affections of the digestive organs 21 

Cases of cerebral congestion 9 

Epilepsy 15 

Hysteria 42 

Catalepsy I 

Nervous attacks 1 1 

Alcoholism 6 

Mental affections 3 

Total 200 

Surgical Cases. 

Contusions 34 

Sprains 2 

Luxation of the shoulder t 

Luxation of the elbow I 

Wound penetrating the chest (attempt at suicide) I 

Wounds and various accidents 16 

Total 55 


Altogether 255 cases . . . and not one death ! This is the 
bright side of this little account. 


The guard attached to the Palace of Justice reminds one of 
the National Guard. He has the air of a family man. One look 
at him is enough to tell you that he is not troubled by barrack 
regulations or constant parades ; and that the thin soup and sorry 
rations which the soldier of the line has to put up with are, for 
him, replaced by a substantial dinner looked after by an attentive 
housewife. From this doubtless comes the mingled look of solidity, 
complacency, and comfort which appears in the air of the Palace 
guard, his physiognomy, and his gait, the latter being as slow and 
solemn as a law-suit itself. 

There is certainly a mysterious affinity between these pacific 
pretorians and the building in which they live. But let not the 
reader be deceived ; the Palace guard is in every way the reverse 
of the National Guard, who used to assume a war-like bearing in 
order to disguise his character ; the great majority of the Palace 
guards are old .non-commissioned officers who can point to a 
record of numerous campaigns and excellent conduct during their 
time of service. Their very language is in keeping with their 
bearing. The Palace guard never swears, and always expresses 
himself in well-chosen terms. 

Their uniform has retained a slightly archaic stamp. The 
Palace guard of the present day, together with the pupil of the 
Ecole Polytechnique, is one of the last representatives of the cocked 
hat, which he wears, unlike the gendarme, with the point in front. 
He is clothed in a tunic and trousers of black cloth with large 
red stripes the colours of the Civil Tribunal and the Assize 

The duties of the Palace guards consist in constant observance 
of the everlasting instruction, " Keep order." 

Only, as order is already kept by their colleagues of the 
Republican Guard, who look after the malefactors, the judges, and 
the public, the only order remaining to be kept is reduced to a 
homoeopathic dose. And so, after roll-call and a microscopic in- 
spection which takes place every morning in the still deserted 
galleries of the Palace, the duties of the Palace guards are limited 


2 5 8 


to distributing among the public moving in the corridors a few 
injunctions of which the most frequent may be reduced to three 

1. "Sir, smoking in the corridors is strictly forbidden." And, 
if it is an advocate engaged in finishing a cigarette, " Maitre 
(ivith a smile], you know that cigarettes in the corridors. . . ." 
When the culprit happens to be a judge, the guard looks another 

2. " No, madam, I cannot let you go about the building with 
that dog." 

3. On days when great criminal 
cases are on and all those whom the 
case does not concern want to get a 
sight of the assassin, "Useless to persist. 
No admission without the president's 
permission or a reporter's card." 

And, as the visitor always does per- 
sist, the guard adds : 

" Go and see the Commandant 

Commandant Lunel, chief of the 
Palace guards, has never, in the 
course of his campaigns, been called 
upon to sustain assaults like those he 
has to face on the days when Pranzini> 
Prado, Eyraud and their successors fill 
the Court to suffocation. We need not 
speak of male applicants. They are dis- 
posed of with a " Sorry, sir ; but it is quite impossible, the Court 
is overflowing." But would-be spectators of the fair sex and there 
are some charming ones are more obstinate. On those days 
the commandant has before him whole battalions of pretty women 
who, though they have no valid pretext for their importunity, are 
never at a loss for a plausible excuse. 

The chief a gallant man is lost in regrets; he falls back on 
superior orders, the crowded state of the Court ; and he contrives not 
to put the fair cohort out of temper, though all the time he only 
admits the authorised few. 

Before becoming the amiable superintendent of the Palace 
guards, .Commandant Lunel was director of the riding school 




at Caen. The services which from his great experience and con- 
summate skill he has been able to render to the organisation of 
cavalry remounts are of inestimable value. 

It is well known that Commandant Lunel is one of our best 
riders. Marshal Canrobert early remarked his abilities in this 
direction, and during the Crimean campaign entrusted him with 
the direction of the cavalry remount at Varna. He has subse- 
quently held the posts of director at the stud farm at Pin and the 
remount at Versailles. His service record is extremely brilliant. 
Since 1841, when he entered the sixth Regiment of Lancers, there 
has been no campaign in which he has not had a share. He re- 
ceived the riband of the Legion of Honour after Solferino ; he 
obtained the rank of colonel on February loth, 1871, after having 
taken part in the battles of Le Bourget, Le Raincy, and Buzenval ; 
and he has held the military command at the Louvre. 

He was appointed to the command of the Palace guards on 
July 1 7th, 1874, and to that of the guards at the Tribunal of 
Commerce in the year following. He has introduced several 
useful reforms into the internal arrangements of the Palace. 

It must be added that he realises the ideal commandant who 
is "father of his battalion," and that he enjoys the warm affection 
not only of his guards, but of all at the law courts who ever come 
into relations with him. 

A last trait : he is not averse to comic songs, which he composes 
and will sing to you, if you call upon him after dinner, in a way 
which would force a smile from the most austere magistrate. 


The Cafe Louis, called after its proprietor, is outside the Palace 
of Justice, and a sort of annexe to it. It stands in the little Rue 
Mathieu-Mole, consisting only of four houses, which unites the Rue 
de la Sainte-Chapelle to the Quai de la Seine ; the latter faces the 
shed which has been built for the steam fire-engines near the fire- 
men's barracks. 

In order to get there unobserved, the people of the law courts, 
who alone use the cafe, cross the courtyard of the Sainte-Chapelle, 
and go out by a vaulted corridor, looking like a postern-gate, that 
pierces the great building of the Correctional Courts. 

S 2 


The cafe has only one room, the arrangement of which has 
required much ingenuity. Every corner has been utilised down 
to the last fraction of an inch, and the chairs and tables look as 
if they were specially made to be folded up under one another 
at a moment's notice. The kitchen, formed by a glass partition, 
takes up one of the angles ; the counter stands half hidden in 
the place left free between this kitchen and a little staircase, under 
which, at the back, there is even a cupboard in reserve, used as a 
pantry. The rest is occupied by six marble tables, in front of 
which are benches cushioned in red plush ; in the middle of these 
is a centre table with eight chairs, and on the walls are mirrors. 

Here, on every Court day, come in succession or all together 
crowds of twenty, thirty, or forty customers advocates, soli- 
citors, ushers, registrars fresh from the Courts, almost all in 
official dress who give the room the picturesque appearance of a 
conference of learned men, met together to drink a friendly glass. 

Those who, engaged in cases which head the list, have had to 
come to the law courts at an early hour, arrive first for breakfast ; 
they are the advance-guard. But from half-past twelve, when the 
lists have been read through, a fresh set of faces appears ; many 
whose cases are fixed to be on in the course of the day, at one 
o'clock, two o'clock, or later, come to while away the interval, or the 
time when the sitting is suspended in the middle, by a game at 
cards or chess. 

These are always the same people, divided into two sets, " the 
men of the woods " who are faithful to the queen and knight, and 
the men of cardboard, the devotees of whist. Sometimes a few 
timidly venture on a game of piquet or ecarte, but the professors 
of high finesse cast a disdainful eye upon these inferior games. 

All types of players may be seen there ; and they form a study 
the more curious and interesting because the peculiar character of 
each comes out under the fascination of the cards, just as in the 
public contests of open Court. Here may be seen the man of 
methodical and regular habits, who will not pass over a slip, 
acknowledging his own with sorrow, and pouncing without mercy 
on those of his partners, exactly as he does in Court; the blunderer 
who throws his cards pell mell as he does the papers of his 
briefs ; the prig, who plays like an amateur, without interest,, 
and loses his tricks one by one as indifferently as he docs his 
clients' cases, in dilettante fashion ; the passionate man, who goes 


into a rage, gives one look at his cards and if they don't please 
him, throws them on the table in his excitement, just as 
in Court he would hurl aggressive arguments at his opponent's 
head ; the calm man, conscious of his strength, whose deep 
voice, more resounding than the trumpets of Jericho, seems 
to exact respect from fortune as much as it frightens those who 
contradict him ; the retired judge, who is not afraid to interrupt 
the traditional silence of whist by comic stories, or even broad 
ones ; the funny man, of over-flowing spirits, who has charming 
flashes of humour, but sometimes, alas ! descends to a pun, the 
besetting sin of judges and advocates; lastly, the grumpy martinet, 
surly of face, who holds forth at length, lays down the law, expresses 
his contempt, and sends his neighbours to sleep from very boredom, 
as if he were still addressing the Court. And countless others. 

Chess engages the attention of strategists, of men of exact 
habits, of the fanciful, of the bold, of the prudent. There they 
sit, in this war of wooden figures, looking like champions ; and 
they wage the mimic fight with the same heat, the same earnest- 
ness, the same ambition for conquest, and the same exultation in 
victory that mark them when they struggle to save a client's 
.fortunes or rejoice over a client saved. 

It is a pity that suitors cannot come in person and pick out 
the advocates they want in the midst of this revelation of feelings 
in undress and character laid bare. They would then be able to 
discover the right temperament and the special aptitudes required 
for the conduct of their suits. They would be able to make their 
choice with full knowledge of the man, which they can hardly do 
when everything is masked under the assumed formalities of the 
consulting-room. But if a layman risks himself in this crowd of 
noisy, talking, singing, black-robed men, he feels that he is in the 
way. He is an intruder ; they scowl at him, and he beats a retreat. 

After four o'clock on week-days, and during the whole of 
Sunday the place is a desert. 


At the Court of Assize, when a great case is being tried, a score 
of men may be noticed crowded, squeezed, wedged together in a 
compartment next to the prisoner's dock, writing on their knees or 
on wooden tablets placed before them. On important days at the 


Correctional Court they are in still worse plight ; stuffed into every 
corner, bending down in the most unnatural positions, standing up 
in the embrasures of the windows, seated on the steps of the dais. 
Here they are engaged in scribbling on endless slips of paper, 
writing away from morning to night, as if indifferent to their sur- 
roundings, till by the time their work is over they find themselves, 
like the companions of Charlemagne, with "stiffness in the loins, 
cramp in the neck, blisters on the fingers." 

These are the law court reporters. Their portraits cannot 
be reproduced here for obvious reasons, but a few facts about them 
must find a place in our book. Their corporation, in fact, is 
one of the original corners of legal life, and one of those least 
known even to regular frequenters of the Courts. The latter know 

that the reporters possess in com- 
mon two little rooms, the way to 
which is well known to advocates 
and even to magistrates, but they 
know little more of the Association 
of Press Reporters at the Palace 
of Justice. 

Many associations are well 
fitted to attain the end for which 

they have been formed, but are divided into cliques, and racked 
by petty jealousies and personal dislikes. Not so the present 
chroniclers of the Palace. No, the Association of Law Reporters 
is not of this kind. It is not a corporation ; it is a body with 
several heads and a single heart. The members often have dis- 
cussions among themselves ; but however numerous and diverse 
the opinions put forward, however lively the opposition they meet 
with, the ultimate decision always finds unanimous support. 
Formed into a syndicate, like all those who work for their living, 
the pressmen of the law courts have not turned their society into 
a league of comrades. They have done better, they have become 
friends, united like brothers by close bonds, closer than that of 
mere association, useful as that was in the first instance. Their 
excellent head, Alexandre Pothey, the regretted Rocher, Emile 
Corra their late syndic, Albert Bataille their present president, 
Davrille des Essards, a member of the Municipal Council of Paris, 
so expert in all questions of co-operation, have leagued them 
together for the protection of their corporate interests, at cost of 



much trouble, and in spite of many obstacles. Daily intercourse, 
difficulties overcome in common, kindred emotions, similar qualities 
of heart and head, and perhaps also similar weaknesses, have 
made them in some sort members of one family. 

The two little rooms allotted to them by the authorities in 
a corner of the law courts have not the convenient but common- 
place air of an ordinary newspaper office. They are the meeting 
place of men who trust one another, and are bound together by 
the links of a deep, an intimate, and a matured affection. They 
have different opinions and origins; in tastes and principles they may 
be opposed to one another ; their views and sentiments are often 
in direct contradiction ; they 
will argue to the bitter end de 
cmni re scibili et quibitsdam 
aliis ; but their union is superior 
to theories and doctrines ; and 
the most furious opponents will 
become reconciled if asked to 
render a service. 

They form a true family ; 
the word has been degraded 
by abuse, but in this case the 
thing is present in all its force. 
It is a real family. It takes 
the young new-comer by the 
hand, guides his first steps 
through the Palace of Justice, 
and unfolds to him the secrets 
of legal life. His education 
completed, it will not stop 
there ; it will do more than facilitate his work ; when absent, 
it will find him a substitute ; when calumniated, it will defend 
him ; when ill, it will care for him and assist him as far as its 
modest resources will allow. It is easy thus to imagine the 
gratitude he will feel towards it, and the readiness with which 
he will in his turn do good to its other members. 

But what need is there of words ? Is not this book itself a 
sufficient proof of their esprit de corps ? 

The authors have fixed on the subject of "the Paris Law Courts '' 
because they could find no other which they were so well fitted to 



treat ; because the law courts have been the source of their friend 
ship, and the be-all and end-all of their lives. 

As one of their oldest members, M. Fernand de Rodays, has. 
said, " Is not the Palace of Justice the most curious magic lantern 
which man has ever devised ? " From January to December they 
see it, they study it, they watch it. Almost in spite of themselves 
they have learnt gradually to know it by heart. This mighty 
edifice with its corridors, its turnings, its doors, its staircases, its 
corners they know it from its roof to its wonderful basements. 

They are by profession the historiographers and critics of its 
varied world of magistrates, advocates, criminals, and supernumer- 
aries, having in the discharge of their duties to watch the events 
which take place there. Of everything and everybody they have 
personal experiences and documents collected day by day, for 
their business enables them to penetrate every day into the most 
secret corners of the world of the Courts. 

So well acquainted are they with the people who move between 
the Rue de Lutece and the Place Dauphine that old or young, 
conservative or radical, if you listen to them, their judgment is 
always unanimous. In all we note the same objects of admiration, 
the same objects of respect, and the same objects of contempt ; 
the same scepticism and the same repugnances. Radicals and 
moderates, in order to agree with one another, have only to make 
a sacrifice of form ; the formulas differ, but the thought is 

How, indeed, could it be otherwise ? How can they help being 
tarred with the same brush ? Enforced pupils at this practical 
school of psychology named " The Courts," they have acquired on 
the same bench this hard reporters' bench so often invaded by 
the outside world the special knowledge of which they treat in 
due accordance with the rules of the law courts. They have all been 
through the same experiences repeated a thousand times over, and 
in consequence they have drawn from them identical conclusions. 
No better proof of this can be offered than the very unity of the 
present work. 




AT the corner of the Boulevard du Palais and the Quai de la- 
Cite, fronting the Palace of Justice, rises a detached building, square 
in shape, and surmounted by a fine cupola ; this is the Tribunal 
of Commerce. The special system of jurisdiction for commercial 
matters originated with the numerous and important fairs of the 
Middle Ages. 

The need for an expeditious and suitable tribunal to settle 
disputes between merchants determined King Charles IX. to issue j 
in 1563, and at the suggestion of Chancellor de 1'Hospital, the first 
ordinance creating a commercial jurisdiction in Paris. The 
notables charged with the duty of administering justice in this 
Court were the consuls of the corporation of merchants ; whence 
arose the terms consular judges, consular jurisdiction or consular 
Courts, still in use at the present day, to designate judges and 
tribunals of commerce. 

The early system of commercial tribunals lasted till the 
Revolution without any great modifications ; and the law of 
August i6th-24th, 1790, which reconstituted them, laid down for 
their guidance a code of regulations which largely obtains at the 
present day. 

We need not enter into technical details, which indeed would 
be beyond the scope of this work. Suffice it to say that they 
are composed of judges elected from the commercial body in 
accordance with the forms prescribed by the law of December 8th,. 



1883. The functions of these magistrates are limited in duration, 
and they receive no payment. The jurisdiction of the Tribunals of 
Commerce extends over the whole arrondissement for which they 
are established, and is applicable to all disputes relative to com- 


mercial matters and to bankruptcies. Appeal lies from their 
decisions to the Court of Appeal for the district in which they 
happen to be located. 

But in order to obtain a full knowledge of the importance and 
powers of a Tribunal of Commerce, we have only to enter the 


building which stands opposite to the Palace of Justice in Paris, 
as though to enter into competition with it and obtain the custom 
of its suitors. 

On entering the vestibule, we are at once informed as to the 
history of the building. On our right, in fact, we find, engraved on 
a marble slab affixed to the wall, the following inscription : 








On the left is another inscription, forming a pendant to the 
first : 











On the right is the hall of the Council of Prefecture. In the 
vestibule on the left, that which opens on the Court of the Cite, 


notices of matters affecting commerce are posted up on hoards 
protected by wire. The public may there get information as to 
the names of stockbrokers and commercial brokers, with the dates 
of their entry on their employment and the names of their pre- 
decessors. Those who intend engaging in commercial transactions 
will do well to come here and read the lists of debtors who have 
obtained orders of discharge, of those against whom receiving 
orders have been made, of those who are subject to a committee 
of inspection, of insolvents and bankrupts. The names of all such 
are carefully posted up ; and if a trader, when the time comes for 
the settlement of his account, finds himself met with the plea that 
the debtor is insolvent, he has only himself and his own negligence 
to blame. 

By the side of these lists are posted large placards bearing, in 
huge letters, the following exhortation to prudence, which, it would 
seem, is very necessary in this abode of justice : T lie public are re- 
quested to be on their guard against touts * (understand, agents of 
doubtful character), and to entrust no business to them" 

This danger is less to be feared at the ordinary law courts, 
where " general agents " of this type cannot appear at the bar 
in the name of their clients. Besides this, they give the place a 
wide berth, doubtless because of its proximity to the office of the 
Public Prosecutor. Should you ever come across them in the 
corridors of the Temple of Themis, be sure that nine times out of 
ten they are there to give account to a judge of instruction or the 
Correctional Court of some act of swindling or breach of trust 
committed against a too confiding client. 
Let us enter the tribunal. 

Before mounting to the first floor, the visitor should stop and 
admire the magnificent double marble staircase which leads to it. 
At the bottom, two stone lions represent strength, while up above ' 
appear four majestic statues, personifying Commerce, Navigation, 
Mechanics, and Industrial Art. 

The staircase abuts on the Salle des Pas-Perdus. In each of 
the four corners is a date to remind us of the chief epochs in the 
development of the commercial jurisdiction ; 1563 1673 1807 

1563, as already stated, is the year in which Charles IX., his 
majority having been solemnly proclaimed on August I7th, in a 

1 Racolctirs. 



" bed of justice," signed the decree establishing the jurisdiction of 
the judge-consuls for the traders of Paris. 

In 1673, Louis XIV. issued a most important decree, forming 
by itself a regular Commercial Code, which prevailed down to that 
of 1807, promulgated by Napoleon I., and still in force in our 
own day. 

1865 is, as we have seen, the year in which the new building 
was thrown open. 

In the Salle des Pas-Perdus our eyes are met by a notification 
of the fees payable to attorneys. 1 This reminds us that these 
attorneys are not considered officers of the Court like the solicitors 
and ushers at the Civil Tribunal. In spite of their ribbed cap and 
Venetian cloak, they are only private individuals, without any public 
status, whom the Court allows to represent parties, and recom- 
mends to the choice and confidence of suitors. Those employ 
them who like, and their ministry is not obligatory in any case. 

At Paris, the number of agrees is fixed at fifteen. This is 
very little ; and it is a matter of astonishment to find so small a 
number in the first Commercial Tribunal of France. Reform in 
this particular is urgently needed ; for, overwhelmed as they are 
with work, the commercial attorneys find it a physical impossi- 
bility to give personal attention to all the cases entrusted to them. 
As a natural consequence, the small cases have to give place to 
the larger ones, and the attorney is compelled to hand them 
over to the direction of secretaries, whose experience and know- 
ledge are not always an equivalent for the master's supervision. 

The commercial attorneys, being simply agents employed by 
their clients, cannot represent them at the bar, except when 
furnished with special powers or accompanied into Court by the 
clients themselves. 

In no case can they bring before the Court in which they 
practise 2 any demands for the recovery of costs from their clients. 
And there is a notice to this effect on the very door of the Court. 

The whole building is covered with copies of a placard. But 
this introduces an innovation intended to accelerate the course of 
procedure. In fact, we find it stated here in black and white, that 
as soon as the parties present themselves at the bar, their case will 

1 Agrees. 

- The French for this is postuler ; the agrees were formerly styled postulants or 
procureurs anx consuls. 



be immediately heard by a judge. Whence it is to be inferred 
that judgment will be given with the shortest possible delay. 
There is only one drawback, the realisation of the promised 
reform has not yet found its way into practice. None the less 
the Tribunal of Commerce prides itself on the rapidity of its pro- 
cedure. It is the principal merit to which this popular institution 
can lay claim, for it is generally very costly, and practically in- 
accessible to humble folks. 

It is only sensational cases, such as company suits, or claims 
for forfeits against actresses which are really discussed. As for 
the rest, the cases in which unimportant people are concerned, the 
Tribunal has no time to go into them thoroughly in Court. It 
passes them on to be settled by an arbitrator, an expert or agent 
of some kind, an honest man no doubt, but not possessing all the 
qualifications of a judge. If the case requires no reference to an 
expert, the Court directs it to be set down for immediate hearing ; 
that is to say, it is submitted to a judge who, after summoning the 
parties and hearing their statements, draws up, to the best of his 
ability, a judgment, which the overworked section he belongs to 
will, generally speaking, adopt. 

This is, in fact, the "one judge" system, which has been so 
constantly denounced, even in cases where the competence of the 
magistrate is beyond question. 

As regards the formalities of the Court sittings, the uninitiated 
who set foot in the Tribunal are generally struck dumb with 
astonishment. Judges, attorneys, registrar, ushers, speak a bar- 
barous tongue. The poor wretch who appears at the bar un- 
supported feels crushed before he opens his lips. He is not 
wanted, and they let him know it. 

His opponent's attorney bullies and ridicules him. 

" What is your claim ? " asks the president curtly. 

" He owes me 250 francs ! " 

" Before some one," says the attorney on the other side con- 
temptuously. The phrase " before some one " means that the 
attorney does not think it worth his while to argue the case and 
will have it referred to an arbitrator. 

"Before whom?" says the president; "what's this about?" 

The attorney, overburdened with his heaps of papers, has com- 
pletely forgotten the case. He refers to his notebook. " It is about 
pens," cries he boldly. " What kind of pens ? " returns the president. 


" Steel pens," whispers his secretary. 
Says the attorney with an air, " Steel pens." 
The president turns over the leaves of a memorandum book, runs 
through the list of experts, and finds one who is an expert in pens ; 
so here is a case settled. 

" But ....," timidly objects the plaintiff. 

The apparitor, a gentlemen of solemn air who wears the chain 
of a sacristan, removes him from the bar, and with a sweep of his 
arm motions him to be seated. It must be said, in defence of the 
magistrates, that the staff of the Tribunal is absolutely insufficient. 
At the Civil Tribunal there are seven Chambers ; at the Tribunal 
of Commerce, with far more cases, there is only one sitting every 
day. In the former there are a hundred and fifty solicitors, and in 
the building opposite but fifteen attorneys. Add to the labour of 
the sittings the reports to be made in bankruptcies, the judicial 
liquidations, deliberations to be held, judgments to be drawn up, 
meetings of creditors and shareholders, and you will under- 
stand how urgent it is that the Tribunal of Commerce should be 
reformed by the establishment of divisional chambers and by 
increasing the number of attorneys, or, what would be best, by 
making the bar really accessible to all, without intermediaries 
of any sort. 

Unless this is done in a few years time, the Tribunal of Com- 
merce will lose much of its authority. This would be unfortunate, 
for, with all its faults, it manages in great commercial disputes 
to render real services to the cause of justice. Those who want a 
change are the lesser men ; imbued with the spirit of association, so 
strong nowadays, they will before long be driven to supersede it 
by syndical chambers, courts of arbitration conducted by experts ; 
this, in fact, is the true judicial system of the future, a justice which 
will cost nothing, and will understand the questions it deals with. 
But this is not a polemical work ! Let us listen to what goes 
on in the Court. Here by chance is a case which the attorneys 
have thought important enough to be argued. 

These attorneys are curious beings to contemplate. They wear 
black coats and white cravats ; and with a short surplice of plaited 
silk, rather like the robe worn on state occasions by Roman pre- 
lates, they look like bluebottle flies that go buzzing about full of 
importance. They talk in stilted phrases, quite puffed up by a 
sense of their merits and of the importance of their duties. 

T 2 


The occasional presence of advocates does not make much im- 
pression on them, and they ungraciously leave to such a few little 
cases which are unworthy of their lordships ; while at the same 
time they lose no chance of playing their rivals all sorts of dirty 
tricks. In days gone by they were even less obliging. So at least 
it would appear from the following little anecdote which is told in 
the corridors of the law courts. Each attorney has his particular desk 
before the bar of the Tribunal ; and, when he has to speak or be 
present at a sitting, he takes his place there. They were exceed- 
ingly jealous of this privilege, and would let no outsider use any of 
these fifteen desks. One day an advocate presented himself to 
plead before the Tribunal of Commerce, but was pitilessly refused 
the right of standing before any of the unoccupied desks. 

" But no one is using this desk ! " groaned the unhappy man, 
bending under the weight of his papers and looking for a place to 
lay them down in. 

" Extremely sorry, my dear sir, to contradict you," answered 

an attorney in the mildest of tones, " but Maitre X will be 

coming shortly, and he particularly asked me to keep his place for 
him. Be sure that he also will be extremely sorry." And at every 
desk which the luckless advocate approached as if it was the pro- 
mised land, he found himself repulsed on pretexts equally dis- 
courteous and frivolous. 

The president of the Tribunal had at last to intervene to check 
these petty annoyances ; and in order to put a stop to them once 
for all, a sixteenth desk was erected, the monopoly of which 
the attorneys could have no right of claiming. 

As soon as the attorneys have finished their arguments, the 
Court withdraws to its Council Chamber to deliberate on the terms 
of its judgment, and the suitors who are waiting for the decision, 
unless they prefer to watch one another's faces or become ab- 
sorbed in their own reflections, may cast their eyes over the 
pictures which adorn the hall where the sittings are held. Only 
two of the required four have yet been finished. The first, 
which is to the left of the entrance, represents Charles IX. es- 
tablishing the judge-consuls in 1563. The second commemorates 
the promulgation of the Commercial Edict of 1673. The third 
and fourth will represent episodes connected with the promulga- 
tion of the Commercial Code in 1807, and the opening of the 
present building. 


Let us now leave the hall of audience, and, crossing an inner 
gallery, pay a visit to the side of the building opposite that just 

We first notice two rooms, known as the bankruptcy depart- 
ment, and by their side are the syndics' offices, which are orna- 
mented with a printed list of forthcoming sales. 

In these rooms are held meetings of the creditors of an insolvent 
business ; it is here that they learn with what sauce they are to be 
eaten. They are certain to be losers ; it is only a question of more 
or less. " Are we in for 20, 40, or 60 per cent. ? " they ask each 
other anxiously, as they enter the dreaded chamber. And, ac- 
cording as the syndic's statements have been favourable or the 
reverse, you will see them come out and leave the Court with 
an expression of cheerfulness or dejection on their countenances. 

Continuing our exploration of this side of the gallery, we 
pass by the private rooms of the reporting judges ; next, in the 
other corner, we come upon the secretary's office and the private 
room of the president of the Tribunal, which is used for the 
Council Chamber. The second story is devoted to the clerical 
work of the Tribunal. It contains the registry offices, the records 
of bankruptcies and liquidations, the private room of the secretary- 
registrar and the pay office. Here are registered partnerships, 
marriages, separations, trade marks, trade names and other 
commercial matters. 

Here also arbitrators bring, sealed up, the reports which they 
have been directed to make for the information of the judges, and 
the registrar's clerks draw up and make copies of judgments to be 
called for by the suitors. On the third story there is nothing 
interesting to notice ; it is occupied throughout by the ushers of 
the Court. We will not enter, as these gentlemen dislike being 


The building opposite the Palace of Justice also provides a 
home for the Council of the Prefecture of the department of the 
Seine. This branch of administrative jurisdiction is but poorly 
lodged. The only chamber for the sittings of the Council is on 
the ground floor. It is fairly large, but plain, cheerless, and rather 

1 See Ch. I. p. 7. 


damp no doubt to remind people that the Council was established 
in the month of Pluviose} It looks like the ordinary Court of a 
justice of peace with no spectators. 

Outside the circle of persons interested, and apart from trials of 
disputes as to the validity of municipal elections, which attract 
more politicians than journalists, the sittings of the Council, which 
have been thrown open to the public since 1865, excite no curi- 
osity. The reason is that the cases which are subject to the special 
jurisdiction of the Prefecture Council are from their very nature 
dull, and if they offer variety they are wanting in the picturesque. 

The Council sits every day. It is divided into two sections, 
each directed by a vice-president. At Paris the prefect himself 
has no right to preside over the Prefecture Council ; there is already 
a special president ; it is even doubtful whether the prefect of the 
Seine himself has a right to a seat, like his colleagues in the 
provinces. This point of law has never been settled. 

The State is in this Court represented by four Govern- 
ment commissaries, chosen as a rule from the auditors of the 
Council of State, their nominal chief being the secretary-general 
of the prefecture. One of the officials of the prefect's office acts 
as registrar, and is styled secretary-registrar. 

A seat on the Prefecture Council in the department of the 
Seine is not obtained in the ordinary course of official promotion. 
Sometimes clerks in the civil service, who have already gained a 
good official position, seek and obtain the appointment; sometimes 
an ex-member of the Chamber of Deputies, under a temporary 
cloud with his constituents, canvasses for the post as a field for the 
employment of his energies. For a seat on the Prefecture Council, 
though much sought after, is very far from being a sinecure. 

The members of this body are paid at the same rate as judges 
of the Court of First Instance; their duties are very absorbing, and 
for the due performance of them require a very extensive acquaint- 
ance with administrative law. On this account admission to the 
Council Board was for many years only accorded to men of ripe 
experience. Not till recently have young gentlemen fresh from 
the law schools and dreaming of future prefectureships been 
allowed to make it the first step in an administrative career. But 
young Frenchmen, if shrewd by nature or well-advised, who 

1 Literally "rainy." Plu-vidse was a month in the Revolutionary Calendar of 1793. 
It corresponded to the period January 2Oth to February igth. 


look forward to a post of secretary-general or sub-prefect, are 
careful not to begin their career by a seat on the Prefecture Council. 
The latter might aptly be compared to a well or a prison. The 
difficulty is not to get in, but to get out of it. 

The saying " When the house goes, everything goes " would 
seem to be especially applicable to the Prefecture Council of the 
Seine. Every structural alteration in the Paris streets brings it an 
increase of contentious business. In virtue of the great principle 
of the separation of powers to which we bow it has special 
cognisance of all disputes arising between public contractors and 
the administration ; also in all complaints made by private persons 
of damage arising to them from the acts of these contractors, but 
not, says the law, if caused by the act of the administration. For 
these last, complainants must apply at the building on the other 
corner of the quay. 

Procedure before the Prefecture Council is of a summary kind. 
Notices of proceedings are given by the agents of the administra- 
tive authority, and in 1889 a law was passed giving statutory 
validity to the whole of the expeditious methods which had been 
introduced in course of time. This law has moreover established a 
new practice in cases of urgency, a kind of application by sum- 
mons in chambers, which adds to the advantages already offered 
by a rapid and cheap mode of procedure. But the inevitable but 
owing to the special character of the suits which they have to 
decide, the Prefecture Councils very frequently resort to the assist- 
ance of experts. There is a regular list of accredited experts, 
public engineers, civil engineers, architects, who all covet a share in 
the honour and profit to be obtained from these judicial commis- 
sions, where the suitors pay the bill and bear the delay. And thus, 
nothing has been changed ! 

A ratepayer who wishes to obtain the reduction or discharge of 
an improper assessment must apply to the Prefecture Council. 
Under this head alone the Council for the department of the 
Seine pronounces on from fifteen to twenty thousand appeals every 
year, though, it is true, they have been first examined by the direct 
taxation authorities, to whom they are submitted. 

If you have a watch-dog assessed as an article of luxury on the 
many-coloured papers which our tax-collectors distribute with a 
liberal hand, complain to the Council ; it will decide on the animal's 


As to repressive jurisdiction, the Prefecture Council takes ex- 
clusive cognisance of offences against the law of public highways ; 
with other roads it has no concern. Breaches of the regulations as 
to military service are also within its competence, and owing to the 
enormous compass of the fortifications at Paris it has plenty of 
work in this particular. 

It would be impossible to enumerate in detail all the duties that 
constantly or occasionally devolve on the members of a Prefecture 
Council, for, in a thousand cases, the prefect has the right, when he 
thinks fit, to delegate his authority to one of the counsellors. 

There are certain special cases when the Prefecture Council 
must be consulted. The Council gives leave to take legal proceed- 
ings against municipalities and public departments. The counsel- 
lors audit the accounts of tax-collectors, when their amount does 
not exceed the sum which brings these functionaries under the 
direct supervision of the Cour des Comptes. 1 

They preside over the acceptance of tenders for public con- 
tracts, and the number of commissions in which they take part is 

The member of a Prefecture Council is a true Jack-of-all- 
Trades ; he renders more services than one can imagine ; he is a 
functionary removable at will and badly paid. Yet to the great public, 
who are ignorant of the reason of his existence, he remains a mystery. 
In every session of Parliament some Deputy, a fanatic in the cause 
of retrenchment, springs up and demands his extinction, and every 
time he is saved by the Minister, who is well aware of his value. 

However great our innate respect for the sacred principle of 
the separation of powers, it cannot be denied that a prefec- 
ture counsellor in many places does twice the work of an ordinary 
judge ; but, unless a complete transformation takes place in our 
administrative system, it is difficult to see how so useful a member 
of the public service is to be suppressed. 


All round the great square hall, which was once called by a 
facetious attorney the " Central Hall," are to be found the offices 
of the Councils of Prud'hommes. They have been but recently 
lodged in the Tribunal of Commerce, and are little special 

1 See Ch. I. p. 7. 


tribunals which determine disputes between workmen and their 
employers with cheapness, smoothness, and impartiality. There 
are four boards, each of which takes charge of some particular 
industry. There is the board for the metal trades, the board for 
chemical manufactures, that for various industries, and the last 
for textile fabrics. Each board holds four sittings a month, and is 
composed of three workmen and four employers one w r eek, and of 
four workmen and three employers the following week. Every case 
before being brought to a hearing must first pass before the board 
of conciliation ; this consists of two judges, who try, with admirable 
conscientiousness and patience, to effect an agreement between the 
two parties who wish to go to law. Not belonging to the class 
of those who merely administer 
justice, but also to that of those 
who pay for it, they know well 
that the cheapest justice is still 
heavy for the purse of humble 
folk, and feel that a bad com- 
promise is better than a good law- 
suit. Each tries hard to impress 
this maxim on the most deter- 
mined litigant. So much earnest- 
ness and persuasion do they throw 
into their arguments that they 
manage to effect an amicable 
arrangement in a large number of 
cases, about half of those com- 
menced being ended before 
them in this way. In other 
cases, they give the irreconcilable 
disputants a letter inviting them 
to appear that day week before the general board. 

On the appointed day, the workman and his employer, each of 
them a good deal heated, are punctual in their attendance. The 
appearance of the Court is curious. There is neither solemnity nor 
splendour. Rooms with bare walls, and wooden benches for the 
public ; for the prud'hommes there is a long desk, separated from the 
audience by a breast-high barrier. The only ornament consists of a 
bust of the Republic on a bracket. Authority is represented by a 
solitary policeman. But he, being entrusted with the duty of main- 






taining order which nothing disturbs, spends his time conscientiously 
in sleep. There are neither decorations nor gowns ; the seven mem- 
bers of the general board, like the two members of the con- 
ciliation board, have, for sole official mark, a silver medal suspended 
from the neck by a silk ribbon. There are no formalities, no 
formulas ; no oath and no pleadings. Every member of the board 
can speak or ask questions when he likes. At the bar all alike, 
both men and women, speak in their own defence ; the whole thing 
is settled in a sort of family meeting, among persons who know the 
value of time and of money, so hard to earn. Those on the bench do 
not preside but judge ; the parties do not plead, they explain ; and 
the cause of justice loses nothing. 

Yet the spectacle, with all its simplicity, is not cheering to the 
reflective mind ; for what strikes one is the smallness, ridiculous 
were it not distressing, of the sums in dispute. The parties here 
are not struggling for lost savings or endangered capital ; it is 
their bread, earned by the sweat of their brow, for which they are 
contending at the ba*? \\frt*ri' gleaming eyes and empty stomachs. 

Just listen to sortie of th.e cases which come before the tribunal. 

Here comes a "yorkman frort) whom his employer withholds a 
few days' pay. The workman* alleges that he was hired for ten 
days; the employer* 'replies' *hat the time fixed was one week. 
And the difference between the two sums is nine francs three 
francs per day and three francs a day in Paris ! 


Here are shoemakers who claim nineteen sous for making a 
pair of cloth-boots, usually sold for eight or nine francs in a shop. 

Here are cabinetmakers who have been refused forty francs for 
making a piece of furniture in antique style, for which the purchaser 
will pay thirty louis ! 

Then come little sempstresses who claim twenty or twenty-five 
sous for a garment, which, by the confession even of the employers, 
has taken ten hours' work. There are makers of neckties who 
give their work-girls three or four francs for a dozen silk bows to 
be retailed at five francs a-piece ! There are young apprentices 
of fifteen with drawn features, round shoulders, weary feet, broken 
down by long rounds and heavy burdens, to whom dressmakers 
or laundresses refuse payment of wages amounting to fifteen or 
twenty francs per month, and the long succession goes on in this 
way till evening. These cases are in themselves uninteresting. 
But what a mass of hidden suffering they suggest ! They do not, 
like ordinary civil suits, reveal ruined families, deserted hearths, 
shipwrecked happiness. They show us the human being, who suffers 
in his body, who toils for something to eat, and has not where- 
withal to satisfy his hunger. To sum up, a sad little Court is this 
Council of Prud'hommes. A tribunal reserved for poor suitors 
and petty suits, and where there is nothing to tempt curiosity. 
But, stop a moment. Before this humble board, which aims at 
making peace, the real struggle in progress is that between labour 
and capital, the same which perhaps to-morrow may convulse the 



THE Palace of Justice and the Tribunal of Commerce having 
been visited, our tour of the law courts is now done. But we have 
an instinctive desire to survey the building as a whole, after having 
admired it in its details. The visitor, quitting it almost against 
his will, returns, as if to concentrate in one last glance upon the 
vast facade the spectacle of the marvels which he has seen within. 
He seeks unconsciously to compress his scattered memories into 
one final emotion, which may be the sum and substance of the 
whole. After our walk through chambers and galleries, halls and 
cells, we cannot leave the building we have traversed without 
giving it one final look as we retire. 

The first thing that seems to strike our eye as we are looking 
back is a figure which eclipses all the others : that of Justice. The 
Palace is no longer anything but a frame ; its inmates become 
secondary characters, and, though we have nowhere painted it, the 
figure of Justice seems to start forth on every side. There she is 
in an actual portrait ; the painting bears its date of 1891. A 
strange presentment, startling in the discordance of its features 


without unity or harmony ; made of bric-a-brac, and attired in a 
harlequin's cloak. The allegorical figures on which our contem- 
porary artists spend so much time have as a matter of fact nothing 
in common with Justice as she is. To be realistic, they should, 
instead of the classic vestments, clothe their model in motley 
borrowed from antiquity and touched up by a modern costumier. 
A dress of the first empire trimmed with polished jet bugles in 
the present fashion, beneath which the dress-improver of a year or 
two back should be apparent, would suit best. At her feet, close 
to the traditional balance, the place of the mirror of truth should 
be taken by a magnifying glass. 

The man who undertakes to model a bizarre figure like this will 
have struck the true note. He will have faithfully reproduced the 
mixture of antiquities and novelties, the combination of super- 
annuated usages and fresh ideas, among which Themis at the end 
of the nineteenth century divides her fancy. He will have shown 
her as she is ; not as an old goddess trying to become young again, 
but as an Immortal undergoing a slow but constant transformation. 

Transformation ! It is the word of our transitional age. The 
law of Heraclitus, " All things move and become transformed," has 
never found a stronger application in the moral world than at the 
present day, when man no longer opposes any resistance to progress. 
But nowhere does the evolution of material things show itself so 
distinctly as at the Palace of Justice. Here the truth of the principle 
formulated by the old philosopher, and taken up again by the English 
school, stands forth in the building as in what goes on there. The 
mason and the advocate are both its agents, and, if the walls reveal 
it to you, the pleadings within confirm the first impression. 

In this last chapter we shall sketch very briefly the evolution of 
legal life, so as to separate the ancient and the modern, which, in 
the building we have described, live side by side with one another in 
perfect harmony. For this purpose it will be enough to classify the 
documents, exhibited in our work in logical order, chronologically, 
and to group them according to their age or nature. Thus analysed 
into its various elements, the Palace of Justice will be seen to con- 
sist of four distinct Palaces : the ancient Palace, the Palace of 
yesterday, the Palace of to-morrow, and the Palace of the future. 



We first find the Palace of time long past, the Palace of royal 
ordinances, the Palace of presidents a mortier, the Palace of gens 
du roy. Let us view its antiquity with respect ; it is contemporary 
with the Sainte-Chapelle and equally picturesque. A legacy from 
the judicial system of old days, it was overthrown by the Revolu- 
tion, but it has arisen again and is still very far from dead. We 
have seen it in all its glory, at the beginning of the legal year, 
when the sceptical crowd of its inhabitants go as a body of formal 
worshippers to hear the Veni Creator of the Red Mass ; and to 
perpetuate the Solemn Sitting, a tradition which only endures 
because it is a tradition. We have met with it again here and 
there during the course of the year. Quaint costumes and quaint 
usages, ratification of letters of pardon, sales by the "auction 
light," taking of the oath by probationers, meetings of columns, 
constitution of the Bar as a privileged corporation, with its prud'- 
hommes (masters with masters under them ! ) l with right to inflict 
punishment all this belongs to the past. To it also belongs the 
curious cap and gown by which the French man of law of Edison's 
day is attired almost in the fashion of a doctor of the age of 
Moliere. The doctor of to-day appears at the bar in ordinary dress ; 
but the advocate who examines him still wears the robe of Master 
Pierre Pathelin. A little time ago the wearer of this robe was 
forbidden to cultivate a beard ; the advocate had to shave his face 
clean, and the razor might be considered an instrument of the 
profession. The most curious thing is that the world of the 
Palace of Justice regards these little inconveniences as prerogatives, 
which it will never willingly renounce. A bdtonnier who would 
not dare to cross the Seine dressed up in his court robes would 
rather resign than plead in an ordinary coat. And yet the same 
man would look on an English barrister's wig as intensely comic ! 


All this side of the Palace is more than a hundred and fifty years 
behind the age ; but, though it shows us justice under its most ancient 

1 The French is mailres sur mattres. It is needless to remind the reader that all 
French barristers are styled maitre, not monsieur. 


guise, it is not the sole representative of a past time to be found 
here. There is something besides ceremonies and costumes which 
belong to another epoch ; ideas, the ideas of certain magistrates 
especially, belong to another age, more near to ours, but none the less 
quite of the past. Is this the result of worship of the past, of educa- 
tion, or merely of temperament ? We will not inquire, but this 
is unquestionable ; on every step of the ladder may be found some 
judge who bears about him a strange air of being behind the times. 
He is as provincial in his life as a countryman who has lost his 
way on the boulevards. Like the Gascon who thought himself a 
Parisian because he had learnt the guide-book of the capital by 
heart, he imagines that the Code contains all the rules of modern 
life, nor does he take any count of present manners. The com- 
promises which the world has made in many ways w r ith strict 
morality fill him with astonishment and indignation. 

Suppose, for instance, that a man keeps a mistress. In our 
present civilisation this is certainly an irregularity. The Church 
forbids it, and the Code, a defender of the family relation, has 
taken the ecclesiastical prohibition as a basis for its enactments. 
Nevertheless, it is common enough to see bachelors seek before 
marriage the happiness to which it is the mayor's special duty to give 
legal sanction. Many magistrates when seated on the bench 
choose to regard all these irregular marriages as highly reprehen- 
sible. When a bachelor of twenty-five appears before them, they 
do not fail to say to him in a severe tone : " The information 
we have received regarding you is not unfavourable ; but you often 
came home very late at night ; you no doubt keep a mistress ! " 
The reproach varies according to the case. If the accused has 
been surprised some evening when he was killing time in 
questionable society : " You were giving yourself up to de- 
bauchery!" blurts out the president. If, on the contrary, the 
accused indulged in what Parisian slang has picturesquely styled 
le vieux collage, the judge cries out in scornful tones: "You were 

living with a concubine, the woman X , and you passed her 

off as your own wife ! " Between the two formulas there is a 
whole ascending scale, the maximum of severity being always 
reserved for the man who lives in concubinage. This old-fashioned 
rigour is sometimes increased by an extraordinary ignorance of 
practical matters. Certain judges of the Court of Appeal have 
never got beyond the experience they acquired during their student 


period (1845-1848). More especially, they do not seem to know 
that money, since their youth, has lost three-fourths of its purchas- 
ing power. In connection with this, there is the sagacious remark 
made by the president of the Paris Assize Court at a recent trial. 
" You robbed your employer of 300 francs (i2~) ; and with this you, 
for a whole month, lived in luxury with a courtesan ! " And in the 
same train of ideas is the remark of another president, who, 
speaking of a fair leader of the gay world, said : " A woman 
living alone at Paris could not spend 19,000 francs (760) in the 
course of the year." 

Even magistrates who are younger, more intelligent and 
altogether more sensible, occasionally let slip puerile reflections 
of this nature. Witness, for instance, the advocate-general one of 
the most distinguished at the law courts who one day put this 
question to a celebrated murderer : " You tried to make your 
victims believe that you were the owner of vast estates in the neigh- 
bourhood of Madrid ! You even sometimes presented yourself 
before them in the dress of a Spanish grandee ! " l 

This simplicity is extraordinary. It clashes with modern pro- 
gress, and makes us say that the class of magistrates just described 
forms yet another separate Palace, which is not that of the remote 
past, nor that of to-day ; it is the Palace of the generation before 
last. Bound as it were in the trammels of a procedure which is 
ridiculously slow for a generation that travels by rail and talks by 
telephone, these judges, eminent as they may be, cannot realise the 
fact that the society which moves before their eyes is not that of 
1806 ; and that though the Code remains unchanged, the world's 
ideas, its prejudices, its theories and its wants have undergone a 

So much for the magistrate who seems never to have lived at 
all. We may pass over those who serve as links in a period of 
transition and the few exceptional specimens described in the 
preceding pages. Let us take a look at the ultra-modern type. 
He is not the man to shave his chin in obedience to traditional 
ideas. Tradition ? He thinks of it as little as a man condemned 
to death thinks of his loss of political rights. For precedents and 
predecessors he cares not one single straw. One thing alone 

1 The French chdteau en Espagne is a phrase meaning the same as the English 
*' castle in the air." This comic rascal's victims must therefore have been as guileless as 
his judge. 


occupies his thoughts : the effect produced outside by the sentence 
he pronounces, and, above all, by the smartness and vigour with 
which he rallies the unfortunates who stand before him. 

A cunning master of fence in these contests of wit, he reminds 
one of a man taking pistol exercise at a cardboard target. He 
is well acquainted with all the prejudices of the moment ; but 
if he is on his guard against them, he shows none of them. 
His sole object in life is to create a sensation ; only let people 
talk about him and his ambition is attained. He pretends to 
have a horror of the journalist, but if by chance he meets one 
in the galleries when leaving Court in the evening, he never fails 
to whisper a word in his ear to remind him of the exact spelling 
of his name, it being often mutilated by the printer. This kind 
of judge is happily not very common at the Palace of Justice. But 
we must draw his portrait if only to bring out more strongly the 
character of those to whom he presents a contrast. He represents 
neither the Palace of yesterday nor that of to-day, nor, we may 
hope, that of a day to come. 


Between these two varieties comes the representative of the 
modern world ; the man of 1891 who is trying to let in some of the 
outside air, to freshen up the stale atmosphere of the Courts, where 
every one is absorbed in the contemplation of ancient texts. It is 
the advocate who more especially plays this part of the vir novus. 
It is he who stands in the breach against the champions of outworn 
doctrines and musty sentiments. Not that he is a Revolutionary. 
Far from it ; but, in spite of himself, he cannot help yielding to 
the laws of evolution. He knows the people well, for he has 
been among them ; he has welcomed them to his chambers, that 
confessional where, though the light can enter, the secrets told 
remain honourably kept. He has listened to the complaints of his 
visitors, and seen their tears. He knows the sufferings of the poor 
and the sorrows of the middle class ; and he is able to make them 
known, and resolved to impress them on the judges who from the 
height of the bench look coldly down upon the level of things in 
general. At the Palace of Justice he represents naturalism as 
opposed to the idealism of the Advocate-General. The Public 



Advocate invokes great principles, and speaks in the name of 
justice, the family, the rights of property and other commonplaces ; 
it is for the advocate to uncover the sores of society, to show its 
scars, to tell the tale of its misery and its griefs. 

Hence come the different styles of eloquence preferred by the 
Public Prosecutor and the counsel for the defence. The representa- 
tive of the former still retains almost all the rhetorical and redundant 
forms of the old parliamentary harangues; he is invariably inflated 
and grandiose ; the advocate (we are speaking of the new school) 
tries to be precise and clear, to secure attention by simplicity, and 
to awaken feeling by a plain picture of the truth. The new gene- 
ration is on the way to create a new eloquence, of a mathematical 
type. Less ornate, but more solid than the old, it will in reality 
require more knowledge and greater talent. The orator will voci- 
ferate less, he will not gesticulate, but he will be more convincing. 
In ten years from now the transformation will be complete. One 
symptom proves it. Certain young representatives of the Ministry 
of Justice have also had recourse to these simpler oratorical methods, 
and their success has shown that the least pretentious eloquence is 
the most effective ; that judges and jurymen are more easily moved 
by analysis of causes than by declamation ; and that the report of 
an expert in medical jurisprudence carries more weight than the 
most magnificent peroration. 

The day may come when this change will make itself felt 
universally. The two sides of the bar will abandon, the one its- 
grandiloquent "opening speech," the other its thrilling "reply;" 
instead of these they will discuss the actual charges, examine them 
seriously and wisely with the careful attention of physicians who 
differ as to the proper remedy to apply. Justice will then 
have taken a great step forwards ; instead of being a kind of 
" cult," with ceremonial and ritual, it will become a school for the 
study of moral diseases ; the Palace of Justice instead of a temple 
will become the most imposing and the most august of our 


The time for this change is not yet, and the Palace of which we 
have just been dreaming belongs to the far future. 

But what of this Palace of the future ? For obvious reasons it 


is difficult to be precise about it. At the present day the air is full 
of reforms. In the Chamber of Deputies and the press, the most 
various projects are being constantly brought forward. No judicial 
incident, however unimportant, takes place without giving rise to 
a crop of suggestions. But, as everybody knows, there's many 
a slip 'twixt cup and lip ; between the idea of a reform, 
however desirable, and its realisation. It seems pretty certain, 
however, that justice is tending to become more simple, less 
slow, less showy, and consequently less picturesque, but more 
practical. The object of all innovations is to shorten delays 
and to make justice more accessible to humble folk, that is 
to those who most need its protection. The jurisdiction of jus- 
tices of peace is being extended, Boards of Conciliation are 
being multiplied, attempts are being made to develop the 
system of arbitration. The farther we go the more marked 
will be the change, the greater the modification in the outward 
aspect of judicial life. 

For example, it is highly probable that we shall see judges 
appointed by election l and the robe abolished ; the right of 
audience in Court no longer confined to advocates, or, in other 
words, the exercise of the profession of advocate no longer 
dependent on the will of a "Council of the Order;" this last 
change alone would be the beginning of a new system at the 
Palace of Justice. 

Without going so far as to speculate on the overthrow of all 
<l traditions," it is not rash to anticipate a whole mass of legislative 
enactments which cannot fail to react on the relations between the 
judges and the judged. To this number belong the reform of the 
Code of Civil Procedure and of the Code of Criminal Instruction, the 
revision of certain chapters of the Civil Code, and the remodelling 
of certain repressive laws. The number of problems which present 
themselves and call for solution is certainly beyond count. Thus 
many people look on the usher, whose popularity has never been 
excessive, as a useless and a costly luxury, and in the vast majority 
of cases the post might be abolished with advantage. Others cannot 
very well appreciate the division of labour between the advocate and 

1 The election of judges existed during the Revolutionary period. As might have 
been expected, it gave rise to the most scandalous judicial partisanship. It was abolished 
by Napoleon Bonaparte on his accession to the Consulate. 

U 2 


the solicitor. Others would greatly like to see a jury in the Correc- 
tional Court; convinced that despite some inevitable mistakes; tem- 
porary magistrates are better fitted to judge their fellow-men than 
professional magistrates, who are insensibly impelled by the very 
habits of their life to see in the prisoner before them only a 
subject for a sentence. Even the question of the advantages of 
one judge, with a jury in civil cases, has been canvassed, and 
the idea has given rise to many a debate. 

The phrase " as few judges as possible " has become popular, 
just like the new political watch-word, " as little government as 
possible." And some bold spirits have gone so far as to demand 
obligatory arbitration in civil disputes. The latter acknowledge 
that the decisions of arbitrators may not be always in strict 
accordance with the letter of the law ; but they are pretty certain 
to coincide with common sense, which is a sufficient consolation. 

They also maintain that under a system of arbitration it will 
be possible, without much difficulty, to ensure competence, which 
they hold is more apparent than real under the present system, 
where it seems the judge is presumed to be omniscient. The 
suitors, they say, will, in the natural course of things, be brought 
to choose those arbitrators who are best suited by profession or 
aptitude to settle the difference in hand. Would it ever occur to 
two men of letters to submit their disputes to a tribunal of cobblers ? 
Certain literary and artistic societies compel their members to submit 
all professional quarrels to the arbitration of the governing body of 
the society itself, or of a committee appointed by it. Is not this a 
step towards arbitration obligatory by law ? 

But these are theories of reform whose practical value might 
be debated till the end of time. One of them alone has the happy 
privilege of obtaining the support of all who appear before the courts, 
and that is the endeavour to reduce the cost of justice. Serious 
efforts have been made to bring about this reform. But it is to 
be feared that many years must pass away before we can hope 
to see the famous principle of "justice for nothing" applied in 
all its strictness. The dream of the future is the discovery of a 
judicial system which, together with absolutely free justice, will 
ensure the appointment of magistrates permanent or temporary 
possessed in their several stations of character, competence, 
knowledge, and conscientiousness. When sitting in judgment on 



their fellow-men, they will have but one care, the discovery of the 
truth, and but one aim, the application of the law. They will 
regard the accused as innocent till the very moment when the 
verdict has been given against him. And, models of dignified and 
calm urbanity, they will make no partial distinction between the 
mighty and the weak. 

But this ideal Palace belongs not to the immediate, nor to 
the far future. It is a Palace in the air. 



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